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A  FAR  JOURNEY 


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A  FAR  JOURNEY 

BY 

ABRAHAM    MITRIE   RIHBANY 

WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS 


BOSTON   AND   NEW   YORK 
HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN   COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,    I913   AND    I914,    BY   THE   ATLANTIC    MONTHLY   COMPANY 
COPYRIGHT,    I914,    BY   ABRAHAM   MITRIE   RIHBANY 

ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED 

Published  September  iqi4 


Sxl^  ^\(^ 


R 


TO   MY   WIFE 

AND  TO  THE  MANY  AMERICAN  CITIZENS  WHO 
BY  THEIR  WISE  AND  FRIENDLY  COUNSEL 
LENT  ME  GUIDANCE  AND  INSPIRATION  IN 
SEEKING  MY  AMERICAN  HERITAGE;  WHO  BY 
THEIR  LOYALTY  TO  THE  IDEAL  REALITIES 
DEEPENED   MY  FAITH  IN   GOD  AND   MAN 

THIS   VOLUME   IS   GRATEFULLY 
DEDICATED 


PREFACE 

It  may  not  be  uninteresting  to  the  reader  to 
know  how  this  autobiography  came  to  be 
written,  and  what  the  author  considers  to  be 
its  excuse  for  being.  In  my  travels  in  this 
country,  ever  since  I  left  New  York  City,  in  the 
winter  of  1893,  and  during  the  years  of  my 
ministry  in  the  Middle  West  and  in  Boston,  I 
was  called  upon  on  numerous  occasions  to  tell 
the  story  of  my  life.  I  told  this  story,  in  brief, 
at  many  church  and  club  meetings,  before 
schools  and  at  hospitable  firesides,  never  think- 
ing that  it  possessed  any  greater  merits  than 
to  entertain  an  audience  for  the  space  of  an 
hour,  or  give  an  interested  group  of  friends  the 
pleasure  of  a  rather  novel  conversation. 

In  the  summer  of  191 2,  while  on  a  visit  to 
the  famous  summer  resort,  Manchester-by-the- 
Sea,  Massachusetts,  I  was  entertained  at  a 
beautiful  and  hospitable  home  where  the  gra- 
cious members  of  the  family  requested  me  to 
[   vii   ] 


PREFACE 

tell  them  my  "  interesting  story."  Deeming  the 
narrative  worthy  to  be  published,  they  brought 
it  to  the  attention  of  the  editor  of  the  Atlantic 
Monthly.  In  that  highly  esteemed  magazine, 
under  the  general  title,  "A  Far  Journey,'' 
several  chapters  of  this  autobiography  ap- 
peared, and  are  here  reprinted  (with  much  new 
material  added)  by  courtesy  of  the  editor. 

^This  narrative's  excuse  for  being  is,  I  believe, 
to  be  found,  first,  in  the  fact  that  it  is  the  story, 
not  of  an  individual,  but  of  a  type.  There  are 
many  others  of  the  children  of  other  lands  who 
have  come  to  the  New  World  as  learners  of  the 
modes  of  life  and  thought  of  a  superior  people; 
who  have  succeeded  in  discovering  America  on 
its  ideal  side,  and  who  know  and  love  this 
country  as  that  Commonwealth  of  free,  enlight- 
ened, and  beneficent  citizens.  Second,  this 
story  justifies  its  existence  by  being  a  testi- 
mony to  the  unparalleled  opportunities  of 
America.  Here,  as  nowhere  else  on  this  planet, 
the  "talented  foreigner"  finds  the  ample  room 
and  noble  incentives  necessary  to  reveal  his 
f   viii    ] 


PREFACE 

talents  and  to  enable  him  to  attain  the  more 
abundant  intellectual,  political,  social,  and 
moral  life. 

While  writing  the  earlier  chapters  of  this 
story  I  often  seemed  to  myself  to  be  portraying 
another  life  than  my  own ;  the  periods  of  child- 
hood and  youth  appeared  to  belong  to  a  remote 
order  of  things  definitely  detached  from  the  one 
in  which  I  now  find  myself.  Yet,  in  a  large 
sense,  the  impassable  gulf  between  my  Syrian 
life  and  my  American  life  is  only  seeming,  and 
not  real.  I  am  conscious  of  no  loss  of  continuity. 
Just  as  manhood  fulfills  rather  than  destroys 
childhood,  so  does  America's  large,  tumultuous 
life  tend  to  realize  the  possibilities  with  which 
.  b^  the  ancient,  mystic,  dreamy  Orient  endowed 
^  me.  So  to  Syria,  my  loving,  untutored  mother, 

as  to  America,  my  virile,  resourceful  teacher,  I 
offer  my  profound  and  lasting  gratitude. 

A.  M.  R. 
Boston,  Massachusetts. 


CONTENTS 

I.  My  Father's  House 3 

II.  El-Shweir 29 

III.  At  the  Feet  of  my  Teachers      .       .     57 

IV.  The  Religion  of  my  Fathers       .       .     86 
V.  A  Stone-Mason 104 

VI.    A  New  Light 120 

VII.   The    School   Teacher  and    the    Emi- 
grant        146 

VIII.    In  New  York  with  Nine  Cents  .       .  183 

IX.    Bookkeeper  and  Editor    ....  208 

X.    Out  from  my  Kindred       ....  242 

XL    Lights  and  Shadows  ....  255 

XII.    College  and  Pulpit 297 

XIII.    At  the  Temple  Gate 323 

Appendix 347 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Abraham  Mitrie  Rihbany.     Photogravure 

Frontispiece 

From  a  photograph  in  IQ14  by  Louis  Fabian  Bachrach. 

My  Father  and  Mother 8 

The  Ploughman 22 

Silk  Worms  and  Cocoons 24 

a.  Ready  to  spin 

b.  Ready  for  the  harvest 

c.  A  luxuriant  yield 

Syrian  Beauties 42 

Watching   from  the   Housetop  the    Coming 
out  of  the  Bride 54 

Lazarus  Miracle-play 68 

The  Home  at  Betater,  the  Right  Half  of 
a  Double  House 74 

Betater 82 

Shoveling  Snow^  off  the  Church  Roof  .       .     92 

The    Priest    sprinkling    Holy    Water    on 
Epiphany  Day 98 

Supporting  a  Stone  Carrier        .       .       .       .112 

f    xiii    1 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

The  High  School  of  Suk-el-Gharb 
A  Rich  Man's  House         .... 
Summer  Cooking  out  of  doors    . 
The  Author  at  21 

Taken  at  Zahlah.     My  First  Photograph. 

The  Teskara  with  which  I  left  Syria 


122 
132 
140 
154 

172 


City  Hall,  New  York,  N.  Y.,  where    First 
Naturalization    Papers  were    taken    out  218 

Kowkab   America,   the   first   Arabic    News- 
paper in  the  Western  Hemisphere      .       .  236 

Soldiers'  Monument,  Mt.  Vernon,  Ohio       .266 

Railway  Station,  Elyria,  Ohio,  where  I  was 
not  allowed  to   spend  the  Night       .       .  274 

University    Hall    and    Grey    Chapel,    Ohio 
Wesleyan  University 310 

First     Congregational     Church,     Morenci, 
Michigan 318 

Thabitah 336 

Church    of    the    Disciples,  Boston,  Massa- 
chusetts         344 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 


A   FAR  JOURNEY 

CHAPTER  I 

MY   father's   house 

When  I  first  came  into  this  world  the  Rihbany 
clan  experienced  the  usual  rejoicing  which 
comes  to  a  Syrian  clan  when  a  man-child  is 
born  to  one  of  its  families.  My  kindred  re- 
joiced at  my  advent,  not  merely  because  I  was 
a  son  instead  of  a  daughter,  important  as  that 
was,  but  because  I  was  an  asset  of  the  clan,  a 
possible  reinforcement  to  their  fighting  strength, 
which  they  had  to  use  often  against  another 
powerful  clan  in  the  town,  called  Jirdak.  In  the 
Jirdak  camp,  however,  a  correspondingly  great 
sorrow  was  felt.  On  the  same  night  on  which  I 
was  born  they  lost  by  death  one  of  their  most 
valiant  fighters.  To  be  so  reduced  in  power  at 
the  same  time  that  the  enemy  was  reinforced 
with  a  possible  fighter,  seemed  to  the  Jirdaks 
to  be  a  stern  heavenly  visitation  which  it  was 

[   3    1 


A   FAR  JOURNEY 

beyond  their  ability  to  bear.  But  so  far  as  I  was 
concerned,  the  enemies  of  my  people  sorrowed 
in  vain.  I  never  lifted  a  finger  against  them, 
never  had  the  chance.  My  years  of  strength 
find  me  fighting  greater  battles  far,  far  away 
from  them,  but  not  with  carnal  weapons. 

The  usual  formalities  were  observed  on  the 
occasion  of  my  birth.  Friends,  both  men  and 
women,  came  to  our  house  in  large  numbers, 
into  the  very  room  where  the  day-old  babe  and 
its  mother  lay,  to  extend  their  congratulations. 
They  brought  their  presents  with  them  as  did 
the  "Wise  Men"  of  old  on  their  historic  visit 
to  Bethlehem.  They  sang  and  were  exceeding 
glad,  because  unto  them  a  child  was  born,  a  son 
was  given.  They  were  served  with  wine,  coffee, 
and  confections.  I  was  baptized  by  triple  im- 
mersion, in  the  name  of  the  Father,  Son,  and 
Holy  Ghost,  and  thus  adopted  by  the  holy  and 
ancient  Greek  Orthodox  Church  as  one  of  hep 
children.  When  I  was  forty  days  old,  my 
mother,  being  permitted  again  to  come  into  the 
sanctuary,  carried  me  to  the  door  of  the  church, 

[   4   ] 


MY   FATHER'S   HOUSE 

as  is  the  custom,  where  the  robed  priest  met  her, 
took  me  in  his  arms,  as  the  aged  Simeon  took 
the  infant  Jesus,  and  presented  me  at  the  altar 
before  the  God  of  my  fathers.  In  our  family 
history  I  took  rank  as  the  fourth  of  a  family  of 
twelve  children,  five  sons  and  seven  daughters. 
My  parents  were  illiterate,  as  were  their  par- 
ents before  them,  and  the  parents  of  their 
parents,  for  generations.  My  father  was  a 
stone-mason,  a  contractor  and  builder.  He  was 
a  man  of  simple,  unaffected  dignity,  kind- 
hearted,  remarkably  industrious,  and  devoted 
to  his  family.  He  was  highly  respected  by  his 
kindred  and  business  associates  throughout  his 
life.  He  always  seemed  to  me  to  be  the  type  of 
man  who  would  never  willfully  and  designedly 
**walk  in  the  counsel  of  the  ungodly,  nor  stand 
in  the  way  of  sinners,  nor  sit  in  the  seat  of  the 
scornful.''  In  a  business  way,  however,  he  was 
not  of  the  truly  sagacious  type.  Through  a  wily 
and  decidedly  unscrupulous  uncle  of  his,  he  be- 
came involved  in  certain  financial  transactions 
which  kept  him  in  debt  and  perpetual  anxiety 

[    5    ] 


A   FAR   JOURNEY 

from  early  manhood  until  near  his  death  at  the 
age  of  eighty.  And,  oh,  that  "debt,"  and  the 
ever-recurring  dread  "interest"  at  twelve  per 
cent,  and  the  thousand  things  which  my  father 
might  have  done  to  escape  the  evil  designs  of 
his  uncle !  How  they  haunted  my  soul  from  in- 
fancy to  manhood,  and  how  I  shiver  and  shrink 
even  now  when  I  recall  them  to  mind !  Every 
bit  of  our  property  was  taken  away  from  us  by 
the  "Frenchman"  who  held  the  mortgage  and 
the  hated  "note,"  after  my  father  had  struggled 
for  years,  at  least  to  reduce  the  debt,  but  was 
prevented  from  doing  so  by  the  exorbitant  rate 
of  interest  he  was  forced  to  pay. 

My  mother  was  in  some  respects  more  richly 
endowed  by  nature  than  my  father.  I  grew  up 
to  consider  her  the  intellectual  leader  of  the 
family.  She  possessed  an  alert  and  resourceful 
mind,  was  swift  both  to  hear  and  to  speak,  hu- 
morous, and  generous  to  a  fault.  In  our  family 
troubles  we  generally  looked  to  mother  for  the 
wisest  counsel.  Along  with  her  intellectual  en- 
dowment, she  possessed  beauty  of  face  and 
[   6   ] 


MY   FATHER'S   HOUSE 

form,  and  absolute  fearlessness.  I  never  knew 
my  mother  to  fear  any  situation,  or  anybody. 
Only  the  *'debt"  oppressed  her,  because  it  was 
foisted  upon  my  father  by  others.  Those  who 
knew  her  father  always  testified  that  she  inher- 
ited his  fearless  spirit. 

From  description,  I  should  judge  that  that 

r   grandfather  of  mine  was  such  a  man  as  Gideon, 

j    or  Othniel,  or  Samson  of  the  ancient  leaders  of 

t_  Israel.   His  mighty  voice  was  so  heartening  to 

his  own  clan  in  battle,  and  so  terrifying  to  the 

enemy,  that  he  was  known  to  his  generation  as 

"Ibrahim  the  Tiger.''  My  mother  never  forgot 

to  remind  me,  with  "great  expectations,"  of  the 

fact  that  I  bore  her  father's  name.    She  said 

that  his  sister  picked  me  up  when  I  was  but  an 

hour  old,  kissed  my  doughy,  wrinkly,  primitive 

face,  and  named  me  Ibrahim  (Abraham),  but, 

rather  fortunately,  left  out  "the  tiger."    Her 

action  was  confirmed  at  my  baptism. 

My  mother's   strength  of  mind  and  great 

courage  did  not,  as  is  sometimes  the  case  with 

*     such   women,   militate    against  her    feminine 

[   7   ] 


A   FAR  JOURNEY 

qualities.  She  was  always  a  woman  from  the 
tip  of  her  finger  to  the  center  of  her  heart,  and 
according  to  the  fashion  of  her  time  and  country 
an  excellent  housekeeper. 

My  father's  house  was  a  typical,  common, 
Syrian  house.  It  was  one  story  high,  and  con- 
sisted of  two  rooms,  a  living-room  and  a  store- 
room. It  was  built  of  roughly  hewn  stone,  ^  and 
had  one  door  and  two  windows,  which  had 
wooden  shutters,  without  glass.  The  roof  was 
the  Biblical  earth-covered  flat  roof,  such  as  the 
one  on  which  Peter  went  up  to  pray  in  ancient 
Joppa.  On  every  Syrian  roof  there  is  a  stone 
roller,  with  which  the  dirt  is  rolled  down  and 
made  hard  enough  to  **shed  water.''  **  Rolling 
the  roof  "  is  a  daily  task  for  the  man  of  the 
house  in  the  winter  season.  Failure  to  do  this 
causes  the  roof  to  soften  and  the  rain  to  soak 
through  and  **drop"  into  the  house.  The 
"dropping"  is  one  of  the  most  hateful  things  to 

^  In  the  western  part  of  Syria  all  the  houses  are 
built  of  stone;  in  the  eastern  part,  generally  of  sun- 
dried  brick. 

r  8  1 


A.  M.  RIHBANY  S  FATHER  AND  MOTHER 


MY   FATHER'S   HOUSE 

a  Syrian  household.  The  writer  of  the  book  of 
Proverbs  did  not  at  all  exaggerate  the  ugliness 
of  the  situation  when  he  said,  "  Continual  drop- 
ping in  a  very  rainy  day  and  a  contentious 
woman  are  alike." 

The  interior  of  that  house  of  my  early  child- 
hood appears  on  the  negative  of  my  memory  in 
this  shape :  On  the  right  as  you  enter  stands  a 
small  structure  of  sun-dried  brick,  called  mekh- 
daah.  It  is  about  five  feet  high,  six  feet  long, 
and  a  foot  deep.  On  the  inner  side  it  is  divided 
into  openings  of  different  sizes,  and  serves  the 
cosmopolitan  purpose  of  a  china  closet,  kettle 
cupboard,  a  place  for  father's  Turkish  pipe  {nar- 
ghile)  and  tobacco,  and  whatever  other  little 
articles  it  may  be  convenient  for  the  moment 
to  thrust  into  it.  The  maukedah  (fireplace) 
is  at  the  forward  end  of  this  structure.  It  is 
such  a  fireplace  as  you  would  build  at  a  picnic: 
square,  open  at  the  top  for  the  kettle  to  set 
in,  and  at  one  side  to  admit  the  fuel.  It  is  built 
of  clay  mixed  with  straw  and  fine  quartz.  There 
is  no  chimney.  The  smoke  floats  in  the  house 

[   9   ] 


A   FAR  JOURNEY 

with  the  sufferance  of  pubhc  opinion.  The  ceil- 
ing is  black  and  shining  as  if  it  had  been  var- 
nished. The  earthen  floor  is  painted  frequently 
with  red  mud,  and  rubbed  with  a  smooth  stone 
until  it  shines.  It  is  furnished  with  straw  mats, 
cushions,  and,  in  the  winter  season,  soft  and 
fluffy  sheepskins.  There  are  no  chairs,  no  bed- 
steads. The  family  sit  and  sleep  on  the  floor. 
The  bed  consists  of  a  thick  cushion  for  a  mat- 
tress, stuffed  with  wool  or  cotton,  a  pillow  of 
the  same  material,  and  a  quilt  for  a  cover.  So 
when  Jesus  said  to  the  man  he  had  healed, 
"Arise,  take  up  thy  bed  and  walk,''  the  man  did 
not  have  very  much  to  carr}^  In  the  daytime 
the  beds  are  either  rolled  up,  each  one  in  a  heap, 
and  left  on  the  floor,  next  to  the  wall,  or  put  into 
a  recess  in  the  wall,  constructed  for  the  purpose. 
By  the  stone  pillar  stands  the  large  earthen 
barrel  of  flour,  on  top  of  which  is  the  large  basin 
in  which  the  bread  is  kept.  Back,  by  the  parti- 
tion which  stands  between  the  two  rooms,  are 
two  or  three  large,  plain  wooden  chests  which 
form  the  wardrobe  for  the  whole  family.  The 
[    lo   ] 


MY   FATHERS   HOUSE 

opposite  wall  contains  many  openings  in  which 
earthen  jars,  containing  the  family  winter  sup- 
ply of  dried  fruits,  cereals,  butter,  lentils,  beans, 
crushed  wheat,  olives,  olive  oil,  molasses,  rice, 
and  other  earthly  comforts,  are  placed.  By  the 
door,  on  the  left,  there  is  a  low  wooden  bench 
which  holds  the  fresh-water  jars,  in  which  the 
women  of  the  house  carry  the  water  from  the 
/fountain,  as  did  the  woman  of  Samaria  whom 
Jesus  met  at  Jacob's  well.  There  are  no  pictures 
on  the  whitewashed  walls.  The  only  ornaments 
are  a  shotgun,  an  ammunition  belt,  a  short 
sword,  and  a  few  articles  of  wearing  apparel, 
which  hang  from  wooden  nails.  There  are  no 
books  of  any  kind,  no  musical  instruments.  The 
other  room  contains  the  wood  and  charcoal, 
tools,  and  so  forth. 

My  father's  house  did  not  stand  on  a  street, 
because  streets  are  unknown  to  Syrian  towns. 
There  was  no  lawn  around  the  house,  no  fence, 
no  garden  of  any  kind,  no  flower-beds.  The  im- 
mediate surroundings  were  our  grove  of  mul- 
berry trees,  consisting  of  four  large  terraces,  a 
[    II    1 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

terrace  of  grapevines,  a  large  fig  tree  which  bore 
black  figs,  a  pomegranate  tree,  and  an  apple 
tree.  On  the  west  side  of  the  house  we  had  a 
large  climbing  rosebush,  which  lifted  its  flam- 
ing top  above  the  roof,  and  an  alder  bush,  which 
bore  blossoms  of  delicate  texture  and  sweet 
fragrance.  These  bushes  were  permitted  to 
share  the  soil  with  the  more  useful  trees,  not 
simply  for  aesthetic  delight,  but  because  their 
blossoms  possessed  medicinal  properties.  At 
least  we  thought  so,  and  thoughts  are  things. 
The  houses  of  my  two  uncles,  father's  brothers, 
stood  very  near  our  house,  and  had  similar 
surroundings. 

Back  of  our  house,  and  extending  some  three 
hundred  feet  eastward,  stood  a  row  of  majestic 
oak  trees,  which  did  not  belong  to  us.  They 
were  perfect  specimens  of  strength  and  beauty, 
and  a  real  delight  to  the  senses  and  the  soul. 
But,  strange  as  this  may  seem,  the  proximity 
of  those  trees  to  our  house  and  my  uncles' 
houses  was  very  displeasing  to  our  families.  In 
so  poor  a  country  as  Syria  has  been  for  ages, 

f     12     1 


MY   FATHER'S   HOUSE 

objects  of  mere  intellectual  and  aesthetic  delight 

savor  of  vain  and  vexatious  things.  The  mode 

of  life  is  severely  utilitarian.  Only  the  rich  and    J     ^ 

the  Europeans  revel  in  the  pleasures  of  gardens  u^c^U  ' 

and  other  great  luxuries.    To  the  masses,  the 

only  desirable  possessions  are  those  things  which 

can  be  converted  into  bread  and  raiment.  The 

owners  of  those  oak  trees  were  of  the  families 

more  highly  favored  with  the  things  of  this 

world ;  therefore  they  did  not  need  the  revenue 

which  the  strip  of  land  occupied  by  the  oak 

trees  might  yield,  if  put  to  better  use. 

But  our  family  felt  differently  about  this  W 
matter.  The  oaks  shaded  a  whole  terrace  of  f 
our  precious,  silk-yielding  mulberry  trees,  and 
some  grapevines,  while  their  mighty  roots 
drained  the  soil  of  its  substance.  That  was  a 
grave  situation.  It  meant  for  us  loss  of  revenue. 
The  mighty  oaks  assumed  in  the  eyes  of  my 
people  the  functions  of  highway  robbers,  of 
enemies  which  never  slumbered  nor  slept  and 
which  stood  at  our  very  door.  How  to  get  rid 
of  them  was  one  of  those  fam.ily  perplexities 

[   13   ] 


Ui 


^j^^-' 


A   FAR  JOURNEY 

which  filled  my  childish  mind  with  disquieting 
curiosity.  My  father  was  offered  much  advice, 
gratis,  as  to  how  to  kill  those  pernicious  oaks. 
Not  being  ours,  they  had,  of  course,  to  be  killed 
in  some  mysterious  way.  One  of  my  uncles, 
who  was  of  a  rather  grasping  disposition,  felt  a 
decidedly  keener  antagonism  toward  the  oaks 
than  did  my  father.  At  times  he  looked  and 
swore  at  them  with  great  avidity. 

So  far  as  I  can  remember,  the  first  means 
which  was  employed  to  wither  those  giants  of 
the  forest  was  prayer,  the  OrientaFs  most  natu- 
ral speech.  But,  for  some  reason  or  other, 
prayer  failed  to  accomplish  the  desired  results. 
Then  an  appeal  was  addressed  to  St.  John  (I  do 
not  recall  whether  it  was  the  Baptist  or  the 
Evangelist),  whose  convent  was  in  full  view 
from  our  house,  farther  down  on  the  slope  of  the 
hill.  He  was  promised  three  piasters  (tw^elve 
cents)  and  a  cruse  of  pure  olive  oil  to  be  burned 
in  the  lamp  which  hung  in  front  of  his  very 
picture.  The  understanding  was  that  the  saint 
was  to  show  signs  of  death  in  the  oaks  before 

[   14  ] 


MY   FATHER'S   HOUSE 

any  payment  was  made;  but  St.  John,  for  rea- 
sons known  only  to  himself,  failed  to  rise  to 
the  occasion  and  do  w^hat  was  expected.  That 
was  a  severe  disappointment. 

However,  there  were  other  means  of  relief 
yet  to  be  tried.  My  father  was  advised  to  seek 
a  magician  and  have  him  "blast"  the  oaks  by 
his  diabolical  art.  The  formula  as  I  heard  it 
stated  was  this:  The  magician  would  enchant 
a  pailful  of  water;  breathe  into  it  the  very 
essence  of  Satan  himself.  Then  all  my  father 
had  to  do  was  to  step  out  in  the  night  and 
sprinkle  the  enchanted  water  at  the  trunks  of 
the  oak  trees,  close  to  the  ground,  and  they 
would  wither  in  an  incredibly  short  time.  For- 
tunately for  the  trees,  however,  such  magicians 
passed  through  our  town  only  at  long  and  un- 
certain intervals,  and  when  one  of  them  hap- 
pened to  be  at  hand,  father  was  either  absent 
from  home,  or  something  else  happened  to 
make  the  moment  altogether  inopportune  for 
such  dangerous  operations. 

One  of  our  cousins  urged  that  an  appeal  be 

[  15  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

made  to  a  person  having  the  "evil  eye/'  One 
having  the  evil  eye  was  supposed  to  do  great 
damage  by  just  admiring  an  object.  A  fat  and 
sweet  baby,  a  handsome  and  strong  man,  a 
beautiful  woman,  a  very  fruitful  tree,  an  abun- 
dant crop  of  silk  cocoons,  or  any  other  good  and 
beautiful  person  or  thing,  stood  in  constant 
danger  of  being  injured  or  even  killed  by  an 
admiring  evil  eye.  Often  did  my  mother  grab 
and  run  away  with  me  —  her  beautiful  baby  — 
to  the  nearest  hiding-place,  when  one  who  was 
supposed  to  "strike  with  the  eye  "  happened 
to  be  passing  anywhere  near  our  house.  Cer- 
tainly those  oak  trees  were  things  to  be  ad- 
mired. Then  why  not  secure  an  evil-eyed  per- 
son, and  bribe  him  or  her  to  cast  upon  those 
trees  a  blasting  look?  However,  those  persons 
who  were  suspected  of  having  the  evil  eye,  for 
obvious  reasons  never  would  admit  the  fact, 
and  certainly  they  were  not  in  the  market  for 
hire. 

The  last  prescription  to  be  considered,  so  far 
as  I  remember,  for  doing  away  with  the  beauti- 
[   i6  1 


MY   FATHER'S   HOUSE 

ful  oaks,  was  the  use  of  mercury.  Father  was 
told  by  those  who  "knew,"  that  if  he  would 
take  an  auger  and  bore  a  hole  in  any  tree  and 
then  pour  in  the  hole  a  small  quantity  of  mer- 
cury—  "live  mercury"  —  the  tree  would  die. 
Mercury,  being  very  heavy  in  weight  and  of 
such  awful,  mysterious  potency,  would  pene- 
trate the  fibers  of  the  tree  in  seeking  to  return 
to  the  ground,  course  through  the  roots,  and 
thus  destroy  all  their  fibers.  That  was  a  simple 
operation.  But  father  was  not  the  kind  of  a 
man  to  undertake  it.  He  might  resort  to  some 
impersonal  agency  of  destruction,  like  prayer 
or  magic,  but  to  do  evil  himself,  to  destroy  with 
his  own  hands,  that  he  would  not.  He  would 
not  assassinate  a  tree  any  more  than  he  would 
a  person.  So  far  as  I  know,  the  oak  trees  still 
stand,  and  wave  their  lofty  tops  over  the  mul- 
berry trees  and  the  grapevines  which  were 
forced  away  from  us  by  my  father's  creditors. 

It  must  be  that  the  nights  I  was  first  aware 
of  in  my  father's  house  made  deeper  impres- 

[   17  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

sions  upon  my  mind  than  the  days,  because 
they  offer  themselves  now  to  my  pen  as  the 
eadiest  bits  of  my  conscious  existence,  —  this, 
I  suppose,  because  of  the  fear  with  which  they 
inspired  me.  I  do  not  recall  the  time  when,  as  a 
little  child,  those  deep  shadows  which  the  dim 
lamplight  emphasized  behind  the  pillar  in  the 
middle  of  the  house,  and  other  objects,  did  not 
frighten  me  whenever  I  looked  at  them.  Our 
only  source  of  light  was  a  small  kerosene  lamp, 
one  of  the  very  first  to  come  to  our  town  after 
the  subtle  fluid  of  the  Standard  Oil  Company 
reached  Syria,  shortly  before  my  conscious  life 
began.  It  was,  however,  a  great  improvement 
on  the  little  olive-oil  lamp,  the  "candle"  of  the 
Sermon  on  the  Mount  and  the  Ten  Virgins  — 
an  earthen  saucer,  with  a  protruding  little  lip 
curled  up  at  one  point  in  the  rim  for  the  wick. 
The  lamp  was  placed  on  the  edge  of  the  mekh- 
daah,  just  above  the  fireplace.  The  corner  in  its 
immediate  vicinity  was  reasonably  well  lighted, 
but  the  remoter  parts  of  the  living-room  were 
veiled  with  ghastly  yellowish  darkness. 
[   i8   1 


MY   FATHER'S   HOUSE 

But  the  most  vivid  of  my  early  memories  of 
kerosene  is  very  grim.  In  filling  the  lamp  one 
night  my  sister  spilled  some  oil  on  the  earthen 
floor.  In  order  to  amuse  me  she  told  me  to  soak 
little  bits  of  cloth  in  the  oil  and  touch  a  match 
to  them  and  they  would  burn  quickly.  As  I  was 
doing  so  one  of  the  little  rags  fell  from  my  hand 
on  the  floor.  I  thought  I  saw  where  it  fell  and 
reached  down  and  grabbed  something  that 
looked  like  it.  It  was  a  scorpion !  The  fiery  sting 
pierced  my  flesh  under  the  thumb  nail.  I  rolled 
on  the  floor,  a  ball  of  quivering  flesh,  with  a 
dart  of  the  bitterest,  fiery  pain,  which  never 
abated  the  whole  night,  reaching  from  my 
thumb  to  my  heart. 

I  feel  no  hesitancy  in  saying  that  when 
Rehoboam  said  to  the  people  of  Israel,  "My 
father  chastised  you  with  whips  but  I  will  chas- 
tise you  with  scorpions,"  he  made  a  telling 
figure,  and  the  people  of  that  country,  which  is 
full  of  all  manner  of  "creeping  things,"  must 
have  understood  him  very  clearly. 

Our  nights  were  not  tricked  into  cheerfulness 

[   19  ] 


A   FAR  JOURNEY 

by  any  of  the  multitude  of  means  which  dehght 
child-Hfe  in  this  age  and  country.  As  a  child  I 
enjoyed  the  love  and  care  of  devoted  parents, 
the  deep,  instinctive,  but  untutored  affections 
and  protection  of  a  richly  endowed  mother. 
But  notwithstanding  all  that,  and  except  on 
festive  occasions,  the  evenings  were  very  dreary 
for  the  little  ones.  There  were  no  children's 
story-books  to  read,  and  there  was  no  one  who 
could  have  read  them,  if  any  of  them  had  fallen 
into  our  hands:  no  pictures  for  the  children, 
and  none  to  cheer  the  blankness  of  those  white- 
washed walls,  which  the  smoke  tinged  with  a 
murky  hue :  no  toys  of  any  kind.  Now  and  then 
we  fell  spontaneously  into  a  fit  of  laughter,  or 
played  a  game  of  hide-and-seek  in  the  dark 
corners  of  the  room.  Now  and  then  we  were 
favored  with  a  tale  about  a  miracle  happening 
in  the  graveyard,  or  about  ghosts,  or  wild 
beasts,  which  made  the  very  hairs  of  our  heads 
hiss  with  fear.  Our  peevishness  and  naughtiness 
had  no  "psychological  guidance.''  When 
bribes,  which  were  by  no  means  of  the  most 
[  20  ] 


MY   FATHER'S   HOUSE 

persuasive  kind,  failed,  the  chief  remedy  was, 
"  Be  good  or  the  camel  will  get  you ! "  "  Listen ! 
the  hyena  is  coming! — Coming!  right  at  the 
door!!''  From  the  fact  that  men  could  ride  on 
his  back,  we  always  concluded  that  the  camel 
must  possess  at  least  the  imitation  of  a  human 
spirit.  But  the  hyena,  so  terrible  and  so  abun- 
dant in  the  surrounding  woods  and  rocky  hills, 
never  failed  to  bring  us  to  terms.  This  is  why, 
I  believe,  my  earliest  memories  of  the  nights 
in  my  father's  house  claim  precedence  as  I 
write. 

And  as  I  reflect  on  those  days  now,  I  realize\ 
most  clearly  how  limited,  how  meagerly  inven- 
tive, is  love  without  culture.  How  almost  help- 
less is  sympathy  without  knowledge.   Love  is,  j 
indeed,  "the  greatest  thing  in  the  world,''  but/ 
without    knowledge,    acquired    knowledge,  — j 
real  culture,  —  love  is  like  a  skilled  workman  ^ 
without  his  tools,  a  mariner  without  his  chart 
and  compass. 

But  the  m^ore  joyful  memories  of  those  plastic 
years  were  stored  in  my  mind  in  the  spring  and 
[    21    ] 


A   FAR  JOURNEY 

the  summer  seasons,  when  the  trees  poured  out 
their  riches  in  tender  leaves  and  blossoms. 
In  Syria  the  seasons  do  not  forget  to  come  on 
time;  the  calendar  and  nature  are  in  perfect 
harmony.  There  are  no  "raw  winds"  and  no 
"cold  showers"  in  April  and  May.  Rain  very 
rarely  falls  between  April  and  September.  The 
myriads  of  white  and  yellow  daisies  are  already 
out  in  full  force  in  the  latter  part  of  April,  and 
we  children  rolled  on  the  fragrant  blossoms  as 
on  a  thick  carpet.  We  plucked  the  daisies  and 
strung  them  by  the  yard  for  necklaces  and  belts. 
When  the  ploughman  came  to  plough  the  mul- 
berry terraces  for  us,  I  experienced  a  delicious 
sensation.  When  that  rough  peasant  arrived 
with  his  primitive  plough  on  his  right  shoulder, 
the  yoke  hanging  from  the  left  shoulder,  his 
long,  hard,  strong  goad  —  the  same  as  the  one 
with  which  "Shamgar,  son  of  Anath,  slew  of 
the  Philistines  six  hundred  men"  —  in  his  left 
hand,  and  his  two  cows,  or  oxen,  or  cow  and  ox, 
walking  before  him,  my  childish  eyes  beheld 
a  most  enchanting  picture.  His  "laborer"  also 

[     22] 


MY   FATHER'S   HOUSE 

came  with  the  ploughman  to  break  the  clods 
behind  the  plough.  "Judah  shall  plough,  and 
Jacob  shall  break  the  clods."  I  would  stand  at 
a  respectful  distance,  because  of  their  menacing 
horns,  and,  with  joyous  bewilderment,  watch 
those  cows,  with  their  eyes  enlarged  and  their 
backs  kinked,  pull  at  the  urging  and  goading 
of  their  master,  turn  the  soil  and  cause  the 
small  stones  and  clods  to  roll  musically  over 
the  terrace  walls. 

In  the  latter  part  of  April  also  the  eggs  or 
"seeds"  of  the  silkworm  ^  begin  to  stir  with  life 
in  the  muslin  sack  (their  winter  quarters)  hang- 
ing from  the  ceiling.  A  scaffolding  of  poles  and 
long,  strong  reeds  is  built  along  the  entire  wall- 
space  in  the  house,  and  clear  up  to  the  ceiling. 
The  trays  which  should  hold  the  silkworms 
are  placed  on  the  scaffolding  in  rows  and  tiers, 
and  the  mousam  —  silkworm  season  —  begins. 
Mother  takes  the  sack  of  eggs  down,  as  she 
makes  the  sign  of  the  cross  and  implores  the 

^  In  the  western  part  of  Syria  the  silk  crop  is  the 
people's  chief  source  of  livelihood. 

[  23  ] 


A   FAR  JOURNEY 

divine  blessing  on  the  silk  crop  that  is  to  be. 
The  sack  is  opened,  and  a  few  tiny,  almost 
microscopic  worms  are  seen  to  quiver  among 
the  dull  gray  eggs.  A  tender  mulberry  leaf  is 
placed  in  the  sack,  on  which  the  little  worms 
soon  gather.  The  leaf  is  lifted  out  with  its  pre- 
cious freight  and  placed  on  a  tray,  where  the 
worms  proceed  to  receive  regular  rations.  Leaf 
after  leaf  thus  proceeds  into  and  out  of  the 
sack,  until  all  the  "blessed  ones"  are  trans- 
ferred to  the  trays.  As  they  grow  larger  the 
lots  on  the  trays  are  divided  and  subdivided 
until  the  whole  house  is  filled  with  bright, 
greedy,  unspeakably  interesting  silkworms. 
Holy  water  is  secured  from  the  priest,  conse- 
crated especially  to  protect  the  crop  from  ants 
and  mice,  and  sprinkled  on  the  lower  terminus 
of  every  pole  in  the  scaffolding.  With  such  a 
sense  of  security  we  proceed  to  bestow  tender 
and  incessant  care  on  the  silkworms,  for  forty 
days,  at  which  time  they  cease  to  eat  and  begin 
to  spin  their  cocoons  in  the  bundles  of  brush 
especially  prepared  for  them. 

[  24  ] 


.#i' 


A.  Ready  to  spin;  B.  Ready  for  Harvest;   C.  A  Luxuriant  Yield 
SILK    WORMS     AND     COCOONS 


MY   FATHER'S   HOUSE 

Oh,  how  dehghtful  it  is  to  watch  those 
precious  worms  weave  their  silken  envelopes. 
Thousands  of  them  are  at  work.  The  web  is 
fastened  to  a  suitable  nook  in  the  brush;  the 
upper  half  of  the  worm's  body  sways  rhyth- 
mically and,  seemingly,  understandingly;  the 
thread,  proceeding  from  the  little  black  mouth, 
is  thrown  round  and  round  as  far  as  the  little 
body  can  reach.  A  haze  of  a  web  is  formed. 
It  is  white,  yellow,  or  yellowish  brown.  My 
eyes  feast  on  the  scene  for  hours.  The  web 
grows  heavier;  the  weaver  is  barely  visible,  — 
it  is  all  hid!  In  a  week's  time  the  bundles  of 
brush  are  converted  into  a  solid  mass  of 
cocoons.  One  of  the  most  luxurious  of  the 
bundles  is  given  to  the  patron  saint  of  the 
family  for  his  gracious  protection  of  the  crop. 
Some  choice  cocoons  are  saved  for  seed,  and 
the  rest  of  the  crop  is  sold  to  the  spinners. 

The  mousam  over,  the  housewife  proceeds  to 

the  annual  whitewashing  of  the  walls  of  the 

house  and  the  mending  and  repolishing  of  the 

earthen  floor.    If  she  is  not  obliged  to  seek 

[  25  ] 


A   FAR   JOURNEY 

the  hills  herself  and  secure  the  needed  tarsh  — 
chalky  white  earth  —  she  buys  a  penny's  worth 
of  the  stuff  from  one  of  the  men  who  peddle  it 
early  in  the  season.  The  enterprising  woman 
dissolves  the  tarsh  in  a  large  basinful  of  water, 
and  very  dexterously  slaps  the  liquid  on  the 
walls  of  the  house  with  a  piece  of  sheepskin. 
As  much  of  the  substance  in  proportion  as 
adheres  to  the  wall  rebounds  on  the  woman, 
who,  after  a  few  hours  of  "slapping,''  assumes 
the  appearance  of  a  veritable  "pillar  of  salt." 

I  always  looked  forward  to  this  performance 
as  to  a  holiday.  In  the  absence  of  the  motion- 
picture  show,  the  merry-go-round,  and  any 
other  juvenile  entertainment,  whitewashing 
the  house  afforded  the  youngsters  the  stimulus 
of  a  significant  change  in  the  routine  of  life, 
which  for  the  time  being  enhanced  the  cir- 
culation of  the  nervous  energy.  It  was  real 
"fun"  to  haul  out  all  the  furniture  from  the 
house  to  the  terrace,  dispose  the  earthen  bar- 
rels, huge  jars  and  clothes-chests  in  the  shape 
of  temporary  defenses  around  the  spot  where 
[  26  ] 


MY   FATHER'S   HOUSE 

the  beds  were  spread,  and  sleep  for  a  night 
or  two  out  under  the  winking  stars.  My  pa- 
rental grandmother  had  the  faculty  of  reserv- 
ing most  of  her  harrowing  stories  for  such 
nights,  when  she  told  them  with  the  ease  of  an 
expert,  "just  to  entertain  me."  But  as  the  com- 
mon people  of  Syria  believe  that  each  person 
has  a  star  in  heaven  which  holds  the  mysteries 
of  his  destiny,  I  often  strayed  from  my  grand- 
mother's stories  by  gazing  at  the  luminous  dome 
above,  curious  to  know  which  of  the  countless 
trembling  stars  was  mine.  My  choice  often  fell 
upon  a  real  bright  orb. 

The  summer,  always  known  to  us  as  "the 
time  of  grapes  and  figs,"  follows  and  I  dance  for 
joy.  Our  own  vines  and  fig  trees  —  the  desire 
of  a  peaceful  Israel  —  are  laden  with  fruit.  We 
have  red,  white,  and  black  grapes.  Our  fig 
trees  bear  white,  black,  yellow,  green,  and  pur- 
ple figs.  The  black  fig  tree  is  nearest  to  the 
house,  and  I  practically  nest  in  it  during  the 
fig  season.  I  love  to  see  the  delicious  ripe  figs 
show  their  African  faces  among  the  large, rough, 

[   27  ] 


A   FAR  JOURNEY 

green  leaves.  I  rise  in  the  cool  of  the  morning, 
before  the  sun  has  lifted  the  dew  on  high,  and 
proceed  to  the  beneficent  fig  tree.  A  "  shred  "  of 
bread ^  and  all  the  fresh  figs  I  can  eat  besides 
make  up  my  breakfast.  I  never  knew  in  those 
days  what  indigestion  was.  The  grapes  and 
pomegranates  afford  delightful  varieties.  My 
uncle  has  an  apricot  tree  near  the  house.  He 
instructs  me  "not  to  touch  it,''  but  I  do,  both 
for  the  sake  of  eating  apricots,  and  to  spite  him. 
Early  in  the  autumn  we  store  the  dried  fruits, 
vegetables,  and  cereals  in  jars  and  earthen 
barrels  and  make  ready  for  the  winter. 

That  was  my  father's  house  in  its  natural 
setting  and  human  atmosphere.  That  was  the 
feeding-place  and  shrine  of  my  early  childhood, 
and  these  are  my  memories  of  it. 

^  Syrian  loaves  are  generally  made  round  and  as 
thin  as  thick  wrapping-paper.  In  weight  a  loaf  equals 
a  large-sized  roll. 


CHAPTER  II 

EL-SHWEIR 

The  larger  environment  of  my  early  years  was 
the  town  of  ..El-Shweir  in  which  my  father's 
house  stood.  El-Shweir  falls,  geographically, 
in  the  province  of  Mount  Lebanon,  Syria,  in 
Asiatic  Turkey.  It  is  situated  about  midway 
between  Jerusalem  on  the  south,  and  Antioch 
on  the  north,  about  sixty  miles  to  the  north- 
west of  Damascus,  and  fifteen  miles  east  of 
Beyrout  and  the  Mediterranean  Sea.  Ecclesi- 
astically, El-Shweir  falls  within  the  ancient  See 
of  Antioch,  in  the  chief  city  of  which  the  fol- 
lowers of  Christ  were  first  called  "Christians." 
From  the  time  when  I  first  became  able  to 
understand  an  ordinary  conversation,  until  I 
emigrated  to  America  at  the  age  of  twenty-two, 
I  was  always  told,  and  therefore  learned  to 
assert  myself,  that  the  town  of  my  birth  was 
an  impregnable  stronghold.  El-Shweir  never 
was  walled  or  fortified.  The  confidence  of  the  in- 
[  29  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

habitants  in  its  impregnability  springs  from  the 
fact  that  the  town  is  buih  on  the  lower  slopes 
of  high,  rocky  hills  which  inclose  a  deep,  horse- 
shoe-shaped gorge.  The  "military"  strategists 
of  El-Shweir  have  always  asserted,  with  the 
authority  of  the  men  of  their  class,  that 
musketeers  could  shoot  much  more  effectively 
when  aiming  upward  than  when  aiming  down- 
ward. Therefore  an  enemy  approaching  the 
town  from  the  commanding  heights  was  by 
necessity  of  his  position  at  a  decided  disadvan- 
tage. The  much  more  stead}^  upward  firing  of 
the  defenders  was  sure  to  scatter  his  forces  and 
put  him  to  flight.  The  reassuring  tradition  still 
survives  in  that  community  that  even  Ibrahim 
Pasha,  the  famous  Egyptian  conqueror,  re- 
marked more  than  once,  during  his  Syrian 
campaign  in  his  war  against  Turkey,  that  El- 
Shweir  could  not  be  taken  by  an  invading 
enemy,  however  strong.  Whatever  military 
value  this  opinion  may  or  may  not  have,  prag- 
matically speaking,  it  "worked"  mightily  by 
lending  the  inhabitants  of  our  town  a  strong 

[  30  ] 


EL-SCHWEIR 

sense  of  security.  And,  furthermore,  the  fact 
stands  subHmely  convincing  that  (I  suppose 
because  no  enemy  has  ever  tried  to  take  it) 
El-Shweir  has  never  been  taken  by  an  enemy. 
The  rocky  hills  which  surround  El-Shweir 
are  crowned  with  lofty  pine  trees,  the  lower 
slopes  are  covered  with  grapevines  and  fig  trees, 
while  groves  of  mulberry  trees  form  the  imme- 
diate environs  of  the  town.  In  its  depressed 
location  the  only  view  El-Shweir  enjoys  of  the 
outside  world  is  the  majestic  elevation  of  one 
of  the  two  highest  peaks  of  Western  Lebanon, 
called  Sunnin,  which  rises  about  nine  thousand 
feet  above  sea-level.  Ascending  to  the  summits 
of  the  surrounding  hills,  however,  one  beholds 
some  of  the  most  beautiful  and  sublime  natural 
scenery  in  the  world:  the  rugged  and  pictur- 
esque slopes  of  Western  Lebanon,  terminating 
in  luxurious  gardens  at  the  sandy  shores  of  the 
blue  and  dreamy  Mediterranean;  the  city  of 
Beyrout,  with  its  white  buildings  standing  on 
the  glittering  shore  like  blocks  of  silver  on  a 
cloth  of  gold ;  a  countless  number  of  hills  and 

[  31   ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

mountains,  groves  of  pine  and  olive  trees, 
winding  streams,  vineyards,  and  a  multitude 
of  towns  and  hamlets,  nestling  in  the  bosom 
of  the  hills  in  all  directions  as  far  as  the  eye 
can  see. 

The  inhabitants  of  El-Shweir,  who  are  sup- 
posed to  count  ten  thousand,  —  and  to  the 
poetic  Oriental  mind  a  supposition  is  always 
more  agreeable  than  an  actual  count,  —  are  all 
of  the  Christian  faith,  and  overwhelmingly 
Greek  Orthodox.  The  minority  consists  of 
Maronites  and  Greek  Catholics.^   The  inhab- 

^  The  Greek  Orthodox  Church,  known  also  as  the 
Eastern  Church,  includes  a  great  portion  of  Christen- 
dom, and  with  the  exception  of  the  Russian  dominions 
is  governed  by  the  four  independent  patriarchs  of 
Constantinople,  Alexandria,  Antioch,  and  Jerusalem. 

The  Maronite  Church  is  an  ancient  national  com- 
munion of  Mount  Lebanon,  which  in  the  twelfth  cen- 
tury came  voluntarily  under  the  sway  of  the  Pope  of 
Rome.  It  is  governed  by  a  local  patriarch  and  a  hier- 
archy, and  retains  many  of  its  ancient  characteristics, 
such  as  the  marriage  of  the  inferior  clergy  and  the  use 
of  the  Syriac  service. 

The  Greek  Catholic  Church  is  a  branch  of  the  Greek 
Orthodox  Church,  which,  as  the  result  of  a  schism, 

[  32  ] 


EL-SCHWEIR 

itants'  chief  source  of  livelihood  is  the  stone- 
mason trade,  which  is  handed  down  from 
father  to  son,  not,  however,  according  to  status, 
but  from  choice.  The  majority  of  the  men  fol- 
low this  trade,  and  the  minority  provide  the 
town  with  its  storekeepers,  blacksmiths,  car- 
penters, butchers,  muleteers  and  loafers  —  the 
leisure  class. 

The  large  majority  of  the  houses  of  El-Shweir 
were  similar  to  our  house.  A  few  houses  were 
two  stories,  and  one  or  two  three  stories  high. 
There  were  no  streets.  Syrian  towns  never 
were  built  according  to  preconceived  plans. 
Each  man  built  on  his  own  piece  of  land,  regard- 
less of  general  convenience  and  symmetry.  One 
or  two  main  roads  ran  winding  through  the 
town,  and  crooked  stony  footpaths,  running 
from  all  directions,  connected  with  those  roads. 
In  the  rainy  season  the  roads  became  streams 

joined  the  Church  of  Rome  in  the  eighteenth  century. 
The  chief  "Western"  characteristics  of  this  church  are 
its  submission  to  the  Pope  and  its  adoption  of  the 
Gregorian  Calendar.  In  other  respects  it  is  practically 
the  same  as  the  Greek  Orthodox  Church. 

[  33    1 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

of  water,  mud  and  slush,  and  pedestrians  picked 
their  way  as  best  they  could. 

The  Orient  in  general  has  never  troubled 
itself  about  sanitation,  not  even  in  the  large 
cities.  At  the  present  time  some  changes  for  the 
better  are  gradually  being  introduced,  but  in 
my  early  years  the  country  was  just  as  Isaiah 
and  Paul  left  it.  Filth  and  refuse  were  thrown 
everywhere  in  the  roads  and  around  the  houses. 
The  "dung-hill"  existed  by  every  house.  The 
people  knew  nothing  about  germs,  and  the 
germs  apparently  knew  nothing  about  the 
people.  Or  rather,  the  germs  did  their  utmost 
with  the  people  generations  ago,  leaving  only 
those  who  proved  germ-proof. 

In  recent  years  El-Shweir  has  made  some 
progress  in  certain  directions,  but  when  I  was 
a  child  it  was  decidedly  primitive.  When  I 
think  of  that  portion  of  my  life  in  comparison 
with  my  present  state,  I  seem  to  myself  to  have 
traveled  through  the  lights  and  shadows  of  two 
thousand  years.  <1  never  knew  in  those  days 
what  a  library  was;  never  saw  street  lights, 

[  34  ] 


EL-SCHWEIR 

glass  windows,  iron  stoves,  public  halls,  news- 
papers, structural  iron  of  any  kind,  or  anything 
that  rolled  on  wheels.  I  had  never  heard  the 
piano  but  once  (in  the  home  of  an  American 
missionary)  before  I  came  to  America.  Public 
education,  citizenship,  a  national  flag,  political 
institutions  of  any  description,  were  as  un- 
known to  me  as  the  postulated  inhabitants  of 
Mars^ 

The  social  life  of  the  El-Shweir  of  my  child- 
hood was  no  less  strangely  interesting.  As  in 
other  parts  of  Syria,  and  as  in  the  days  of  Israel 
and  Canaan,  and  the  Jews  and  the  Samaritans, 
v^the  various  clans  of  the  town  lived  on  terms  of 
mutual  enmity.  Seldom  did  a  year  pass  with- 
out a  serious  fight  occurring  between  the  clan  of 
Rihbany  and  the  clan  of  Jirdak.  To  down  the 
other  clans  seemed  to  be  every  clan's  ideal. 
This  I  was  taught  by  example  and  precept  from 
my  infancy.  Often  did  I  hear  a  cousin  of  mine 
say  that  he  would  pay  the  toll-tax  for  every 
man  v/ho  died  in  the  clan  of  Jirdak.  As  clans, 
we  lived  in  accordance  with  the  precept,  "  Eye 

[  35   ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

for  eye,  tooth  for  tooth,  burning  for  burning, 
wound  for  wound,"  and  no  favor.  There  was 
indeed  social  intercourse  between  the  various 
clans;  there  were  common  feasts  and  festivals. 
But  all  these  were  temporary  concessions  which 
our  contiguous  existence  and  the  oneness  of  our 
religious  faith  required.  It  is  not  difficult  to 
see,  therefore,  that  under  such  conditions  the 
ideal  man  for  us  was  the  fighter.  The  good  man, 
the  man  wise  in  counsel,  was  indeed  greatly 
revered,  but  he  needed  the  fighter  to  maintain 
his  supremacy. 

Of  these  thoughts  my  young  soul  drank  its 
fill.  Those  men  of  strong  limbs,  heavy  voices, 
and  fiery  eyes  stood  for  me  as  the  heights  of  my 
climbing  ambition.  To  be  like  one  of  them  was 
a  dream  which  seemed  to  me  too  good  to  be 
realized.  And  those  interclannish  fights,  which 
I  witnessed  in  my  innocent,  plastic  days,  thrill 
my  soul  to  its  center,  even  now,  when  I  think  of 
them.  The  sight  of  a  few  hundred  men  engaged 
in  a  hand-to-hand  fight,  shouting,  cursing, 
swearing,  and  inflamed  with  wrath ;  hundreds  of 

[  36  ] 


EL-SCHWEIR 

women  shrieking,  children  howHng  in  terror; 
stones,  clubs,  and  clods  flying  in  all  directions, 
blood  dripping  from  heads  and  faces,  was  in- 
deed bewildering,  overwhelming  for  a  little  soul 
to  witness. 

But  what  must  seem  strange  to  an  American 
is  the  fact  that,  considering  the  large  number 
of  men  engaged  and  the  duration  of  the  fight, 
the  injuries  caused  by  those  interclannish  com- 
bats were  rather  slight.  Very  few  men  ever 
were  seriously  injured,  and  rarely,  if  ever,  any 
one  killed.  The  reason  of  this  was  that  those 
men,  as  a  rule,  fought  like  big  boys,  seeking 
simply  to  "humble"  one  another.  They  had 
no  great  issues  at  stake.  The  causes  of  such 
quarrels  were  most  often  very  trivial.  Two 
women  of  different  clans  might  quarrel  at  the 
public  fountain  over  the  question  as  to  whose 
turn  it  was  to  fill  her  jar  first,  and  thus  precipi- 
tate a  fight.  Two  men,  each  championing  the 
cause  of  a  mythical  hero,  fall  into  serious  dis- 
puting. "Your  'hero'  was  a  coward,"  says  the 
one.    "You,  your  hero,  and  all  your  clan  are 

[   37  ] 


A   FAR  JOURNEY 

cowards/'  says  the  other.  "  Say  no  such  words 
against  my  clan,"  retorts  the  angry  opponent; 
"did  we  not  tread  on  your  necks  at  the  last 
fight?  Just  remember  that  day  and  plaster 
your  mouth  shut/'  Of  course  nothing  more  is 
needed  to  plunge  two  clans  into  a  fight.  Again 
a  similar  situation  might  be  created  by  two 
boys  fighting  in  like  fashion;  or  at  a  funeral 
when  a  dispute  arises  as  to  what  clan  has  the 
right  to  lift  the  bier  first  and  start  it  on  its  way 
to  the  sepulcher;  or  at  the  game  of  "tossing  the 
ball/'  or  "lifting  the  mortar"  (see  below),  or 
any  other  trivial  occurrence,  coming  just  at  the 
"right  time." 

Such  being  very  often  the  causes  of  those 
fights,  the  men,  as  a  rule,  sought  merely  to 
"down  the  foe"  and  humiliate  him  by  "tread- 
ing on  the  necks  "^  of  their  antagonists.  Thus 
we  read  in  the  Book  of  Joshua,  when  the 
"five  kings,"  of  Jerusalem,  Hebron,  Jarmuth, 

^  This  expression  is  meant  often  to  signify  victory, 
even  if  the  "treading  on  the  neck"  does  not  actually 
take  place. 

[  38  ] 


EL-SCHWEIR 

Lachish,  and  Eglon,  were  brought  out  of  the 
cave,  "that  Joshua  called  for  all  the  men  of 
Israel,  and  said  unto  the  captains  of  the  men 
of  war  which  went  with  him,  Come  near,  put 
your  feet  on  the  necks  of  these  kings.  And  they 
came  near,  and  put  their  feet  on  the  necks  of 
them."  That  was  the  most  exalted  symbol  of 
victory  for  Israel. 

But  clannish  life  has  its  decidedly  romantic 
side.  Provided  one  is  able  and  willing  to  forget 
the  larger  interests  of  civilization  and  the  nobler 
visions  of  nationalism  and  human  brotherhood, 
and  make  the  rule  of  his  social  life  the  faulty 
maxim,  "My  clan,  right  or  wrong,"  I  know  of 
no  more  delightful  social  state  than  that  which 
clannish  life  affords.  As  I  write,  the  past  rises 
before  me  like  a  bewitching  dream.  I  am  car- 
ried back  to  the  time  when  the  hearts  of  all  my 
kinsmen  throbbed,  beat  for  beat,  with  my  heart ; 
when  every  one  of  their  homes  was  as  much 
mine  as  my  own  fireside,  when  we  lived  in  life's 
shifting  lights  and  shadows,  "all  for  each  and 
each  for  all."   The  fact  that  we  dwelt  among 

[  39  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

antagonistic  clans  served  only  to  heighten  our 
heroism,  strengthen  our  clannish  cohesion,  and 
intensify  the  delightfulness  of  our  kinship. 

A  clan  gathering  is  itself  a  feast.  When  the 
"men  of  counsel  and  the  men  of  war"  meet 
together,  not  in  a  public  hall,  but  at  the  home 
of  an  ''aam''  (uncle  or  kinsman)  for  the  pur- 
pose of  "reconciling"  a  family  feud,  or  nego- 
tiating a  marriage,  or  planning  how  to  meet 
an  impending  danger,  each  man  feels  that  his 
strength  is  that  of  a  hundred.  The  small  cups 
of  Turkish  coffee  are  passed,  first  to  the  oldest 
and  most  honored  man  present,  and  then  to  the 
others  according  to  age,  married  men  taking 
precedence  over  the  unmarried.  They  all  drink, 
and,  as  each  one  places  back  on  the  tray  his 
empty  cup  and  its  beaten-brass  holder,  with 
the  right  hand  lifted  toward  the  forehead,  he 
says  to  the  host,  "May  we  always  drink  coffee 
in  your  hospitable  home  [meaning,  "May  you 
always  be  able  thus  to  entertain")  in  times  of 
joy  and  gladness  " ;  and  to  the  youth  who  passes 
the  coffee,  "May  we  drink  it  again  at  your 

[    40  ] 


EL-SCHWEIR 

wedding/'  So  far  as  its  large  interests  are  con- 
cerned the  clan  is  a  unit.  It  may  "withdraw'' 
from  him  who  refuses  to  abide  by  its  decisions, 
and  thus  render  him  a  social  outcast.  "That 
soul  shall  be  cut  off  from  his  people." 

The  large  majority  of  the  men  of  El-Shweir 
were  absent  from  their  homes  from  spring  until 
late  autumn.  As  a  rule  they  left  their  home 
town  right  after  the  Easter  festival,  and  scat- 
tered all  over  Syria  in  pursuit  of  their  trade  as 
stone-masons.  In  their  travels  "  in  the  land  of 
the  stranger"  they  forgot  their  clannish  ani- 
mosities and  worked  and  lived  together  as 
friends.  They  stored  their  summer  wages  in 
their  Damascus-made  girdles,  until  their  return 
home.  Their  families  in  the  mean  time  lived  on 
credit. 

Late  in  the  autumn  the  men  returned  to  town 
to  spend  the  winter  at  home  in  complete  idle- 
ness. Upon  their  arrival  clannish  animosities 
reasserted  themselves  in  their  hearts.  Their 
wives,  who  stayed  at  home  the  year  round  and 
kept  up  their  own  feminine  clannish  fights, 

[  41   1 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

hardly  allowed  their  returning  husbands  time 
enough  to  put  their  shoes  from  off  their  feet  at 
the  door,  and  their  traveling-bags  from  off  their 
backs,  before  they  told  them  of  the  many  indig- 
nities which  had  been  heaped  upon  their  fam- 
ilies in  their  absence,  not  only  by  the  women 
and  children  of  the  other  clan,  but  also  by  the 
old  men  who  remained  in  the  town  during  the 
summer.  Thus  a  grave  situation  was  immedi- 
ately created,  and  the  men  made  ready  to 
"clear  for  action"  on  short  notice. 

When  my  father  came  home  the  occasion 
was  deliciously  interesting  to  me.  Life  took 
on  greater  vigor  and  exhilaration.  He  brought 
with  him  many  goodies  which  were  "pleasant 
to  the  sight  and  good  for  food.'*  The  sound  of 
;  the  bubbling  water  in  his  long-idle  narghile,  the 
smell  of  the  Persian  tobacco  smoked  in  it,  his 
manly  voice,  and  the  sense  of  added  security 
which  his  presence  gave,  were  choice  pleasures. 
It  was  a  supreme  moment  for  me  when  he  took 
down  the  gun  from  the  wall  to  clean  and  oil  it. 
I  was  always  taught  that  the  gun  was  made  by 

[  42  ] 


SYRIAN    BEAUTIES 


EL-SCHWEIR 

Satan,  and  I  should  not  touch  it,  but  I  never 
knew  the  time  when  I  did  not  take  awe- 
inspiring  dehght  in  looking  at  this  product  of 
Satan's  genius. 

The  social  pleasures  of  the  people  of  our  town 
were  very  simple  and  unlearned.  No  literary 
circles,  no  lectures,  theaters,  or  receptions;  no 
dried-beef-and-creamed-potato  church  suppers, 
or  ice-cream  socials  to  pay  the  minister's  salary. 
The  social  routine  was  very  simple  and  most 
favorable  to  the  perpetuation  of  the  juvenile 
temper.  Life  did  not  radiate  in  broad,  intellec- 
tual, aesthetic,  ethical,  and  political  highways. 
It  had  only  a  few  hungers  to  feed  and  small 
ambitions  to  satisfy.  The  inhabitants  of  the 
town  gathered  in  homogeneous  groups  and 
feasted  themselves  on  gossip  and  tales  of  adven- 
ture. Eating  and  drinking  in  parties  was  fre- 
quent. "Tossing  the  ball"  was  a  favorite  game 
with  the  men,  which,  however,  frequently 
ended  in  a  serious  fight.  "Lifting  the  mortar" 
was  another  heroic  feat.  A  wooden  handle  was 
fastened  in  the  hollow  of  a  large  stone  mortar, 

[   43    ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

and  the  strong  men  vied  with  one  another  in 
lifting  it  with  the  right  arm  to  the  shoulder,  or 
the  full  height  of  the  arm.  Rivalry  in  this  game, 
also,  often  precipitated  a  fight. 

The  game  called  "Two-steps-and-a-jump'' 
was  an  exciting  one.  A  "  mark"  was  placed  at  a 
certain  point.  The  player  made  a  short  run  — 
"to  gather  his  strength''  —  until  he  reached 
the  mark.  Then  he  sprang  forward  with  all  his 
might,  two  steps  and  a  jump.  Another  mark 
was  placed  where  his  feet  last  struck  the 
ground.  Thus  the  men  strove  to  out-distance 
one  another,  and  he  whose  agility  placed  the 
second  mark  beyond  the  reach  of  all  others  won 
the  day. 

The  coming  of  "the  bear  and  the  monkey" 
greatly  excited  the  populace.  The  owner  of  the 
animals  beat  upon  his  tambourine  at  a  certain 
spot  in  the  town,  to  which  the  multitude  has- 
tened. A  small  sum  was  granted  him  by  the 
authorities,  out  of  the  tax-money.  He  made  the 
bear  "dance"  and  the  monkey  perform  antics. 
He   sang  songs,  the   enchanting  qualities  of 

[  44   ] 


EL-SCHWEIR 

which  made  the  animals  do  certain  pleasing 
things.  But  the  climax  of  the  bear-and-monkey 
entertainment  was  reached  when  some  strong 
man  offered  to  wrestle  with  the  bear. 

The  man  comes  forward.  The  bear,  urged  by 
his  owner,  stands  up  on  his  hind  feet.  The  wild 
and  the  human  beast  come  together.  The  man's 
arms  encircle  the  bear  just  under  the  armpits. 
The  owner  must  see  to  it  that  the  bear  does  not 
bite  his  antagonist.  The  battle  is  joined.  The 
bear  snorts  and  grunts.  The  man  does  no  less. 
The  crowd  sways  with  every  movement  of  the 
combatants.  The  owner  urges  his  bear  to  vic- 
tory. The  crowd,  in  a  similar  manner,  stiffen 
the  resolution  of  the  man.  Such  a  battle  cannot 
last  long.  The  bear  grows  weaker,  because  he 
has  danced  long  before  the  fight.  The  crowd 
shouts.  The  man  grips  the  ground  with  his  feet 
and,  with  a  last  mighty  push,  lands  upon  the 
roaring  animal!  Men  rush  forward,  extricate 
the  victor  from  the  claws  of  the  angry  beast, 
and  proclaim  him  hero.  The  owner  soothes  the 
misfortune  of  his  vanquished  pet. 

[  45  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

One  of  the  most  exciting  masculine  dances 
of  Syria  is  the  debkah.  It  is  an  ancient  Arab 
dance  which  goes  back  to  the  early  days  of 
Israel.  At  this  dance  about  a  dozen  men, 
nearly  equal  in  stature,  holding  hands,  stand 
in  a  curved  line.  One  outside  the  line  beats  the 
tune  on  a  timbrel.  The  bodies  of  the  dancers 
sway  rhythmically,  now  to  right  and  left,  now 
forward  and  backward,  with  the  recurring 
short  measures  of  the  music.  At  brief,  regular 
intervals  the  dancers  stamp  forcibly  with  the 
right  foot  extended  forward,  with  a  quick, 
vigorous  ''Yah-0-Yah!"  Again  the  bodies 
sway,  the  song  is  repeated,  the  feet  strike  the 
ground,  and  again,  until  the  men  are  fatigued. 
It  was  something  after  this  fashion  that  the 
ancient  clans  of  Israel  danced  around  their 
rough  altars,  with  shouts  of  ''Hallelujah!  — 
Praise  ye  Jah.'' 

Playing  cards  was  a  prevalent  pastime. 
Propounding  riddles,  like  that  which  Samson 
propounded  to  the  Philistines,  was  very  popu- 
lar.  Ghost  stories  abounded.   The  miraculous 

[  46  ] 


EL-SCHWEIR 

workings  of  saints  were  often  and  reverently 
rehearsed ;  the  relative  strength  of  the  various 
kings  of  Europe  considered,  mythical  heroes 
extolled,  etc.,  etc. 

But  the  chief  social  event  of  the  town,  the 
summit  of  social  joy  to  both  old  and  young,  was 
the  marriage  feast.  I  always  looked  forward  to 
a  marriage  feast  as  do  those  who  watch  for  the 
morning.  Its  tumultuous  joys  rolled  within  my 
soul  like  ocean  waves.  It  was  then  that  as  a 
child  I  could  do  absolutely  as  I  pleased.  It  was 
then  that  my  pockets  burst  with  plenty.  Sugar- 
plums, nuts,  raisins,  cakes,  and  other  delicacies 
fell  into  my  hands  in  great  profusion.  The  sing- 
ing, dancing,  and  sword-playing  thrilled  every 
nerve  in  me.  Both  in  childhood  and  youth, 
El-Airis  (marriage  feast)  was  to  me  an  expres- 
sion comprehensive  of  multitudinous  joy. 

According  to  the  ancient  customs  of  Syria, 
which  go  back  to  that  wedding  of  Cana  of 
Galilee  and  ages  beyond  it,  it  is  not  a  wed- 
ding day  that  is  appointed,  but  a  wedding  fes- 
tival, which  extends  over  several  days,  during 

[  47   ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

which  time  the  whole  town  thinks  of  nothing 
else. 

During  the  preceding  week,  a  deputation  on 
behalf  of  the  bridegroom's  family,  and  another 
on  behalf  of  the  bride's,  visit  all  the  chief  homes 
of  the  various  clans  in  the  town  and  notify 
them  of  the  coming  event.  This  is  the  equiva- 
lent of  an  invitation  to  all  the  members  of  all 
the  families.  Whosoever  will  may  come.  Only 
unfriendly  clans  or  families  are  omitted,  and 
only  such  refuse  to  come,  even  if  invited.  The 
parable  in  the  Gospel  of  St.  Matthew  of  "a 
certain  king,  which  made  a  marriage  for  his 
son,  and  sent  forth  his  servants  to  call  them 
that  were  bidden  to  the  wedding,  and  they 
would  not  come,"  indicates  this  social  peculi- 
arity. The  intention  of  the  parable  was  to  show 
the  persistent  antagonism  of  the  Jews  of  the 
apostolic  age  to  the  Christian  faith.  Though 
they  were  "  called  "  again  and  again,  they  \\  ould 
not  come.  To  refuse  an  invitation  to  a  marriage 
feast  in  Syria,  excepting  in  case  of  a  recent  sor- 
row, is  a  sign  of  deep-seated  enmity. 

[  48   ] 


EL-SCHWEIR 

.  His  wedding  day  is  the  supremest  day  in  a 
man's  life.  Marriage  to  the  Syrian  Christians 
is  not  only  a  holy  sacrament,  but  an  ideal  to 
which  all  other  ideals  stand  subordinate.  The 
loveliest  thing  a  guest  can  say  to  parents  at  the 
end  of  a  meal  is,  "May  we  eat  again  within  this 
house  at  the  wedding  of  the  dear  grooms  [i.e., 
sons]."  Matrim^onial  expectations  are  affec- 
tionately expressed  to  boys  from  early  child- 
hood. Whatever  service  or  courtesy  a  boy  ren- 
ders, he  is  repaid  for  it  by  saying  to  him,  "May 
we  serve  at  your  wedding?" 

The  guests  come  to  the  wedding  in  large 
groups,  of  hundreds  and  of  fifties,  representing 
clans  and  houses.  While  yet  a  short  distance 
from  the  bridegroom's  house  they  begin  singing 
in  groups  and  in  diverse  tunes.  A  large  com- 
pany of  the  groom's  clan  rushes  out  to  meet  the 
approaching  throng,  with  singing  and  shouts  of 
joy.  The  two  groups  meet  and  merge  together, 
making  not  only  "a  joyful  noise,"  but  a  deafen- 
ing roar.  They  march  into  the  house  and  are 
met  by  those  within,  with  similar  manifesta- 

[  49  ] 


A  FAR   JOURNEY 

tions  of  joy.  Presently  all  singing  ceases.  The 
relatives  of  the  bridegroom  stand  in  a  straight 
line,  with  him  as  its  center  and  glory,  facing 
their  guests  who  have  also  fallen  in  line.  The 
guests,  speaking  all  together,  say,  "Blessed, 
O  bridegroom,  be  your  enterprise ;  May  Allah 
bless  you  with  many  sons  and  a  long  life ;  Our 
joy  this  day  is  supreme."  To  which  the  rela- 
tives of  the  bridegroom  respond  in  similar 
fashion :  "  May  Allah  bless  your  lives ;  May  such 
events  happen  in  your  homes;  May  all  your 
sons  who  are  needy  [of  marriage]  be  so  blessed 
and  made  happy.  You  have  honored  us  by 
your  coming!"  The  two  parties  thus  give  vent 
to  their  happy  feelings,  simultaneously  causing 
a  commotion  resembling  an  artillery  duel.  Only 
an  expert  in  the  etiquette  of  the  occasion  is  able 
to  comprehend  the  meaning  of  the  felicitations. 
This  part  of  the  proceedings  in  the  marriage 
festivities  was  always  most  thrilling  to  me.  So 
many  strong  men,  dressed  in  their  best  and 
many-colored  garments,  formed  for  me  a  rare 
picture  of  strength  and  beauty.    My  soul  ex- 

[  50  ] 


EL-SCHWEm 

panded  and  contracted  with  the  rise  and  fall  of 
their  mighty  voices.  My  heart  beat  tumultu- 
ously  as  the  two  crowds  merged  together  in 
happy  confusion.  My  supreme  care  was  to  be 
at  a  safe  distance  from  the  wild  tread  of  those 
many  strong  limbs,  and  the  fearful  points  of 
those  swords  flashing  at  the  head  of  the  pro- 
cession. 

Sunday  is  the  last  and  greatest  day  of  the 
wedding  festivities.  It  is  the  day  of  the  solemn- 
izing of  the  marriage,  and  all  the  town  is  out. 
If  the  ceremony  is  to  take  place  at  the  house, 
then  the  bride  is  brought  to  the  house  of  the 
bridegroom  as  Rebekah  was  brought  to  Isaac's 
house,  where  the  consecration  takes  place.  But 
if  at  the  church,  as  is  most  often  the  case,  then 
both  the  bridegroom  and  the  bride  are  escorted 
there  by  the  multitude.  "The  bringing  of  the 
bride''  from  her  father's  house  was  a  most 
interesting  event  to  me  as  a  child.  Picked  men 
are  sent  to  '*  bring  the  bride,"  thus  echoing  the 
ancient  custom  of  strong  men  forcing  the  bride 
away  from  her  kindred.  If  the  bridegroom  is  to 

[  SI  ] 


A  FAR   JOURNEY 

be  grave  and  reserved  in  his  conversation,  the 
bride  is  expected  to  be  absolutely  silent  while 
the  festivities  last.  She  is  not  to  open  her  eyes, 
either,  excepting  on  rare  occasions.  Nor  is  she 
to  close  her  eyes  tightly.  That  would  be  humili- 
ating crudeness.  She  has  been  instructed  care- 
fully to  exercise  her  eyelids  with  lovely  gentle- 
ness, until  they  just  touch  fringes,  with  no  sign 
of  effort,  or  stress.  The  "drooping  eyelids"  of 
the  right  kind  of  a  bride  are  poetized  by  the 
Syrians  as  a  superb  example  of  bewitching 
loveliness. 

What  seemed  like  an  inscrutable  mystery  to 
my  little  mind,  on  such  an  occasion,  was  the 
behavior  of  the  bridegroom  and  the  bride. 
Where  did  they  get,  all  at  once,  such  unap- 
proachable dignity?  Were  they  still  such  peo- 
ple as  we  are  ^  Were  they  still  my  cousins .?  It 
did  not  seem  possible.  I  could  hardly  believe 
my  eyes  when  I  saw  them  a  few  days  after  the 
wedding  conducting  themselves  just  like  other 
people.  The  bridegroom's  looks  were  no  longer 
awe-inspiring.  The  bride's  eyes  were  wide  open, 

[  52  ] 


EL-SCHWEIR 

and  the  output  of  her  organs  of  speech  seemed 
unlimited. 

Shortly  after  the  arrival  of  the  escorting 
party,  who  are  immediately  served  with  wine 
and  confections,  the  bride  is  led  from  her  bridal 
seat  by  women  attendants  and  the  closest  male 
friends  of  the  bridegroom.  The  etiquette  of 
the  country  requires  that  she  walk  out  of  her 
father's  house  extremely  slowly.  On  some  occa- 
sions the  walk  of  the  bride  from  the  innermost 
part  of  the  room  to  the  door  consumes  about 
half  an  hour.  A  decorated  horse  or  mule  is  at 
the  door,  on  whose  back  she  is  lifted  by  the 
strong  men  of  the  party.  Another  mule  carries 
the  bride's  bed  and  clothes-chest,  and  the  pro- 
cession moves  slowly  toward  the  sanctuar}% 
amidst  great  rejoicing.  A  large  concourse  of 
people  escorts  the  bridegroom. 

When  the  ceremony  takes  place  in  the  night, 
the  whole  affair  assumes  a  brilliant  aspect. 
Sword-players,  singers,  "musicians,"  torch- 
bearers,  and  other  merrymakers  surround  the 
bridegroom,  and  are  distributed  also  along  the 

[  53   ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

procession.  The  housetops  are  filled  with  spec- 
tators, largely  women  and  children.  They 
shower  on  the  procession  rose-water,  flower- 
water,  wheat  (the  symbol  of  fecundity),  and 
confections.  Waves  of  zelagheet  (songs  peculiar 
to  women)  float  over  the  marching  host.  The 
procession  moves  with  flashing  swords,  flaring 
lamps  and  torches,  and  an  indescribable  din  of 
music  and  song.  *' Behold  the  bridegroom 
Cometh !  Go  ye  out  to  meet  him,"  and  woe  to 
those  "foolish  virgins"  who  are  not  ready  to 
join  the  joyous  throng!  The  contracting  parties 
meet  at  the  altar,  and  are  joined  together  in 
holy  marriage  by  a  most  impressive  ceremony. 
This  done,  the  mighty  host  retraces  its  steps 
with  the  happy  couple  to  the  house  of  the  bride- 
groom, where  the  chief  feast  of  the  occasion  has 
been  prepared.  Food  is  provided  for  an  unlim- 
ited number  of  guests.  They  come  from  all  the 
walks  of  life,  from  "the  highways  and  the 
hedges,"  and  the  house  is  literally  filled.  In 
the  summer  season  the  feast  is  spread  on  the 
housetop,  but  as  most  of  the  weddings  occur 

[   54  ] 


EL-SCHWEIR 

in  the  winter,  the  guests  crowd  into  the  house, 
and  eat  and  drink  from  an  apparently  unhmited 
supply  of  Syrian  generosity.  With  this  feast 
end  the  wedding  festivities. 

Such  were  the  simple  pleasures  and  social 
activities  amid  which  my  earthly  life  began. 
So  distressingly  homogeneous,  so  unmixed  with 
higher  intellectual  and  ethical  delights,  was  the 
life  of  my  people. 

But  for  justice'  sake  it  should  be  stated  here 
that  the  Syrians  are  as  richly  endowed  with 
intellectual  possibilities  and  social  instincts  as 
any  people.  Those  of  them  who  have  had  the 
privileges  of  a  more  highly  organized  social  life 
and  of  higher  education,  especially  in  Europe 
and  America,  have  amply  shown  their  capacity 
to  become  highly  educated  and  socially  refined. 
But  the  history  of  Syria  has  been  a  series 
of  misfortunes.  As  the  battle-field  of  mighty 
empires  from  time  immemorial,  Syria  has 
always  been  tossed  from  the  hands  of  one 
tyrannical  government  to  those  of  another,  and 
deprived  of  all  the  agencies  which  make  for 

[  55  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

enlightened  nationalism.  It  has  had  no  higher 
education  to  rid  the  mind  of  trivialities  and 
superstitions,  and  lead  to  the  higher  unity  of 
ideals ;  no  industry  to  teach  the  value  of  time 
and  create  a  longing  for  peace ;  no  civic  spirit 
to  convert  life's  activities  into  ethical  and  social 
values,  and  lead  to  the  love  of  law  and  order, 
and  to  cleanliness  and  beauty  of  material  sur- 
roundings. There  is  at  present  a  new  spirit 
stirring  in  that  country,  and  it  is  hoped  that 
a  new  era  may  soon  dawn  upon  that  ancient 
mother  of  the  greatest  of  religions  in  the  pos- 
session of  man,  and  give  the  nobler  qualities  of 
her  children  a  fair  chance  to  reveal  and  develop 
themselves. 

Such  was  the  home  of  my  people  when  it  was 
first  introduced  to  my  consciousness;  out  of  it 
I  have  traveled  by  devious  ways  to  the  vastly 
various  and  complex  present. 


CHAPTER  III 

AT  THE    FEET   OF  MY  TEACHERS 

My  intellectual  history  began  in  the  school  of 
my  uncle,  my  mother's  first  and  favorite  cousin, 
Priest  Michael,  of  the  Holy  and  Apostolic  Greek 
Orthodox  Church.  I  could  not  have  been  much 
more  than  three  years  old  when  my  mother  led 
me  to  sit  at  the  feet  of  the  priest  of  my  people 
and  receive  instruction.  The  "Child  Mind," 
"School  Age,"  "Adolescence,"  and  the  many 
other  psychological  zones  were  unknown  to  my 
people.  I  could  say  "papa"  and  "mamma," 
and  many  other  words  at  the  age  of  three,  and 
according  to  my  parents'  ideas  I  might  just  as 
well  be  saying  the  letters  of  the  alphabet. 

At  that  time  the  men  who  could  read  and 
write  in  El-Shweir  were  extremely  few.  Certain 
parish  priests  established  what  might  be  called 
reading  circles  for  the  purpose  of  fitting  some  of 
the  youth  of  the  parish  with  suflScient  knowl- 
edge of  reading  to  assist  the  priest  at  the  mass. 

[  57  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

The  course  consisted  of  the  alphabet,  the  Book 
of  Psalms,  writing,  and  a  short  exercise  in 
mental  arithmetic. 

My  recollections  of  my  uncle's  school  are 
dim  and  meager.  His  house  consisted  of  two 
rooms,  one  of  which  was  the  schoolroom.  Be- 
sides the  door  this  room  had  one  window,  which 
had  wooden  shutters  and  no  glass.  It  was 
opened  when  the  weather  permitted. 

The  pupils,  who  numbered  about  twenty-five, 
sat  on  the  straw  mats  on  the  floor  with  their 
legs  crossed  under  them.  In  compliance  with 
good  manners,  we  took  our  shoes  from  off  our 
feet  upon  entering  the  room,  just  outside  the 
threshold  in  summer  and  just  inside  in  winter. 
In  the  days  of  Moses  that  was  done  as  a  sign  of 
reverence  for  holy  places,  as  he  did  it  before  the 
"burning  bush";  and,  as  in  ancient  Syria  every 
family  had  a  household  god,  the  shoes  had  to 
be  removed  from  the  feet  upon  entering  the 
house  in  deference  to  the  family  god.  The  habit 
survives  in  the  land  "unto  this  day"  as  a  social 
grace. 

t   S8   ] 


AT   THE  FEET   OF  MY   TEACHERS 

But  in  my  uncle's  schoolroom  another  enter- 
prise went  hand  in  hand  with  education.  Ori- 
ental parish  priests,  of  whatever  communion, 
marry,  as  did  the  priests  of  Israel.  My  uncle 
had  a  large  family  and  a  small  income.  There- 
fore, in  order  to  keep  the  wolf  from  the  door  he 
betook  himself  to  weaving  cloth,  on  a  hand- 
loom  which  stood  in  the  schoolroom.  The 
clerical  weaver,  with  flowing  hair,  luxurious 
beard,  and  ample  black  garb,  sat  on  the  edge  of 
the  "loom-pit,"  dug  in  the  floor  to  accommo- 
date the  treadles.  He  devoted  his  feet  to  the 
treadles,  his  hands  to  the  shuttle,  his  eyes  to 
the  web,  and  his  ears  and  tongue  to  the  pu- 
pils. At  significant  moments  he  would  come 
into  living  touch  with  his  disciples  through  a 
long  stick  which  lay  conveniently  near  his 
hand. 

The  only  reliable  memories  I  have  of  my 
student  life  in  my  uncle's  school  are  first,  that 
all  the  pupils  read  aloud,  at  the  top  of  their 
voices,  and  thus  converted  the  schoolroom  into 
a  veritable  beehive.  When  a  mistake  happened 

[   59  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

to  invade  the  hearing  of  the  teacher  he  would 
shout  the  name  of  the  transgressing  pupil  and 
acquaint  him  forcibly  with  the  correct  pronun- 
ciation. Second,  my  uncle  was  infinitely  more 
interesting  to  me  as  a  weaver  than  as  an  edu- 
cator. The  flitting  of  the  shuttle  through  the 
web  entranced  me.  I  watched  breathlessly  for 
the  intervals  when  the  sedate  cloth-maker 
tightened  the  fabric  by  turning  the  heavy 
"weaver's  beam"  over  which  the  finished  cloth 
was  rolled,  and  to  which  the  writer  of  First 
Samuel  likens  the  staff  of  Goliath's  spear,  when 
he  says,  "And  the  staff  of  his  spear  was  like  a 
weaver's  beam."  It  always  seemed  to  me  a  feat 
of  strength  full  of  mystery  when  the  arm  of  the 
weaver  emerged  from  his  ample,  loose  sleeve,  as 
his  hand  grasped  the  wooden  handle,  and  made 
the  giant  beam  turn  with  a  dull,  creaking  sound, 
and  shift  the  web  to  the  desired  position.  The 
letters  of  the  alphabet,  written  on  a  piece  of 
paper  and  pasted  on  the  strip  of  board  in  my 
hand,  were  nowhere  to  be  compared  with  the 
magical  movements  of  the  loom.  Therefore, 
[  60  1 


AT   THE   FEET   OF  MY   TEACHERS 

when  my  uncle  was  not  looking  at  me,  I  was 
looking  at  him.  That  is  all. 

The  second  year  of  my  school  life  found  me 
in  more  auspicious  circumstances.  The  foreign 
mission  schools  were  far  better  equipped  than 
the  priests'  schools.  Therefore,  as  soon  as  the 
English  missionaries  opened  a  school  in  our 
part  of  the  town,  my  uncle  was  compelled  to 
give  up  his  vocation  as  an  educator  and  devote 
all  his  time  to  his  loom  and  his  clerical  duties. 

The  new  Angleez  (English)  school  held  out 
for  me  many  compelling  charms.  I  was  told 
that  there  were  benches  in  the  schoolroom,  a 
table  that  had  a  drawer  in  it,  an  iron  stove, 
and  a  "striking''  clock!  The  teacher  built  fire 
inside  the  stove,  and  a  long  pipe  carried  the 
smoke  out  of  the  room.  The  clock  "told"  the 
time.  At  two  o'clock  it  struck  two;  at  three, 
three,  and  so  on.  The  reputation  of  the  teacher 
was  very  satisfactory  to  the  parents.  He  was  a 
severe  disciplinarian.  "He  made  the  hairs  of 
the  pupils'  heads  stand  on  end  from  fear."  In 
a  country  where  the  authority  of  both  Church 
[  6i   ] 


A  FAR   JOURNEY 

and  State  inspired  fear  rather  than  confidence, 
this  quahfication  won  for  the  teacher  the  pro- 
found confidence  of  the  people. 

At  about  the  age  of  four  I  was  sent  to  the 
Angleez  school.  It  was  situated  in  one  of  the 
best  residences  in  the  town.  The  schoolroom 
was  large  and  had  two  windows.  The  inventive 
genius  of  the  English  taught  the  native  teacher 
in  charge  to  put  white  muslin  screens  in  the 
windows  during  the  winter  season,  as  substi- 
tutes for  glass.  Each  boy  had  to  bring  a  piece 
of  wood  or  charcoal  every  morning  to  feed  the 
wondrous  stove.  The  clock  —  a  world  of  mys- 
teries beyond  mysteries  —  told  the  time.  The 
drawer  in  the  teacher's  table  seemed  an  inex- 
haustible source  of  dazzling  wonders.  Fancy 
pencils,  glossy  writing-paper,  chalks,  new,  clean 
little  books  —  all  from  Beyrout  —  issued  forth 
from  it  and  enchanted  my  vision.  A  large  Bible, 
the  first  I  had  seen,  rested  on  the  table.  There 
were  benches  for  the  older  pupils  to  sit  not  oiz, 
but  at.  They  sat  on  the  floor  and  rested  their 
books  and  elbows  on  the  benches.  We,  the 
f  62  1 


AT   THE  FEET   OF   MY  TEACHERS 

little  ones,  had  no  supports  for  either  our  backs, 
books,  or  elbows.  In  a  little  comer  close  by  the 
teacher  stood  an  assortment  of  sticks  —  light, 
medium,  and  extra  heavy  —  which  he  used  with 
discrimination,  according  to  the  ages  of  the 
pupils,  excepting  when  in  a  fit  of  anger  he 
applied  the  wrong  stick  to  the  right  boy.  Girls 
also  were  permitted  to  come  to  the  school,  but 
only  a  few  of  them  attended. 

My  first  and  second  year  in  this  school  car- 
ried me  through  a  small  primer,  a  book  of 
Bible  stories  called  "The  Bright  Light  for  the 
Little  Boy,"  a  few  memory  lessons  in  the 
Presbyterian  catechism,  and  introduced  me  to 
the  art  of  writing.  The  deepest  impression 
which  my  teacher  made  upon  me  in  those  days, 
as  a  teacher  and  not  as  a  disciplinarian,  was 
through  his  conducting  of  the  devotional  serv- 
ice which  took  place  at  the  beginning  of  every 
school  day.  I  loved  to  hear  and  see  him  read 
the  Scripture  lesson.  I  felt  his  prayers  rever- 
ently. It  was  inspiring  to  me  to  hear  his  open- 
ing sentence;  one  which  he  very  frequently 
[  63   ] 


A   FAR  JOURNEY 

used  was,  "O  Thou  Lord  God  Almighty,  who 
art  over  all!"  The  impression  made  upon  me 
at  those  services  must  have  been  strong  and 
pleasant,  because  the  whole  scene  remains  with 
me  a  clear  and  delightful  memory.  I  really 
longed  to  be  like  my  teacher:  to  read  the  Bible 
with  such  power  and  dignity,  and  to  address 
God  in  prayer. 

That  was  the  first  touch  of  idealism  my  soul 
ever  felt  —  the  first  incentive  to  aspiration,  the 
first  glim-pse  I  had  of  my  higher  self  as  reflected 
in  the  strong  man  who  stood  before  me  in  the 
attitude  of  prayer. 

The  clearest  and  most  unpleasant  memory  I 
have  of  that  teacher,  as  a  disciplinarian,  is  of  a 
punishment  he  inflicted  upon  me  which  almost 
proved  fatal  to  both  of  us.  From  my  present 
point  of  view  I  consider  that  act  to  have  been 
most  cruel.  I  do  not  remember  the  offense  for 
which  my  teacher  decreed  that  I  be  locked  up 
in  the  schoolroom  alone,  all  night  —  a  child  not 
yet  six.  The  pupils  filed  out  of  the  room ;  the 
teacher,  casting  a  last  grim  look  at  me,  locked 

[  64  ] 


AT   THE  FEET   OF   MY   TEACHERS 

the  door  and  departed.  Horrible  silence,  dis- 
turbed only  by  the  now  oppressive  ticking  of 
the  clock,  filled  the  entire  building.  The  shad- 
ows began  to  deepen.  My  eyes  were  fastened 
upon  the  clock,  when  an  ugly,  hairy,  black 
spider  sallied  forth  from  some  unknown  crack, 
crawled  up  to  the  clock,  encircled  it  a  few  times 
and  retired  behind  it.  I  was  rigid  with  fear. 
I  had  not  enough  life  to  cry.  It  grew  dark ;  the 
shadows  of  death  engulfed  my  soul.  Presently 
I  heard  steps  outside  and  the  voice  of  my 
mother.  Wondering  why  I  had  not  come  home 
when  it  was  so  late,  she  had  gone  out  to  seek 
me.  Having  learned  of  my  plight  from  the  other 
children,  she  went  to  the  teacher  and  asked  him 
to  go  down  to  the  school  without  a  moment's 
delay  and  release  me.  In  what  manner  she  ad- 
dressed him  I  was  not  in  a  position  to  know. 
He  instantly  obeyed,  and  I  was  given  my  free- 
dom. The  next  day  I  fell  ill.  My  father  was  not 
at  home.  My  cousins  and  uncles  and  second 
cousins  heard  of  what  had  happened.  Their 
boy  was  seriously  ill,  and  the  teacher  was  the 
[   65  ] 


A   FAR  JOURNEY 

cause.  If  the  boy  should  die,  then  life  for  life ! 
The  teacher  must  die  also.  So  was  the  teacher 
told  by  one  of  my  uncles  who  spoke  in  clear 
accents.  Poor  teacher!  Twice  a  day  did  he  visit 
me  during  that  illness,  bringing  me  many  pres- 
ents of  things  he  knew  I  most  longed  to  have. 
His  gifts  and  caresses  restored  me  to  health, 
and,  consequently,  assured  him  of  peace  and 
length  of  days  for  himself. 

One  of  my  dim  but  proud  memories  of  the 
period  under  consideration  is  that  of  my  partici- 
pation in  a  crude  miracle  play  which  was 
enacted  by  the  children  of  the  Greek  Orthodox 
faith  on  what  is  known  in  the  Greek  calendar 
as  Lazarus  Saturday,  —  the  day  immediately 
preceding  Palm  Sunday,  —  in  commemoration 
of  the  raising  of  Lazarus  from  the  dead.  That 
was  our  only  theatrical  performance,  whose 
setting  was  the  real  life  of  our  people  which 
had  undergone  no  appreciable  change  since  the 
time  when  this  miracle  was  first  recorded.  We 
reproduced  the  event,  as  it  is  reported  to  have 
occurred  at  that  ancient  grave  in  Bethany,  at 

[  ^e  ] 


AT   THE  FEET   OF   MY   TEACHERS 

the  door  of  every  adherent  of  our  faith,  and 
were  rewarded  by  the  housewife  (and  woe  to 
her  who  failed  to  reward  us  Hberally)  with  a 
gift,  most  often  of  eggs,  which  we  divided 
among  ourselves  at  the  end  of  the  day  and  kept 
for  Easter. 

The  story  as  reported  by  the  evangelist  is 
written  in  vernacular  poetry  on  a  piece  of  paper 
about  a  foot  wide  and  five  feet  long.  A  boy 
representing  Lazarus  lies  down  on  the  ground 
and  is  covered  up  with  a  white  shroud.  Two 
girls  (sometimes  boys  are  substituted,  and  other 
changes  made  in  the  general  plan  of  proce- 
dure), representing  Mary  and  Martha,  and 
dressed  in  mourning,  sit  weeping,  one  at  the 
head,  the  other  at  the  feet  of  "Lazarus."  Two 
boys,  holding  the  extended  roll  over  the 
"corpse,"  chant  with  the  other  boys  the  poetic 
tale,  until  they  reach  the  last  line,  "Lazarus, 
Lazarus,  arise  and  speak  to  me!"  —  when  the 
brother  of  Mary  and  Martha  gets  up  with  the 
"grave-clothes"  around  him,  and  turns  his 
sisters'  mourning  into  joy.  For  many  years  my 

[  67  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

sister,  who  took  the  role  of  Martha,  insisted 
that  when  I  took  the  role  of  Lazarus  (which 
was  very  easy),  I  should  not  have  known  when 
to  "arise"  had  she  not  pinched  my  foot  at  the 
psychological  moment.  For  obvious  reasons  I 
never  admitted  her  claim. 

The  last  event  I  remember  of  my  school 
career  in  El-Shweir  was  the  coming  of  the 
English  missionary  —  the  khawaja  himself  — 
to  inspect  our  school.  This  was  a  gala  day.  The 
khawaja  was  to  give  prizes  to  deserving  pupils. 
My  teacher,  partly  because  I  was  a  "bright 
boy"  and  partly  because  of  my  recent  illness, 
which  he  was  supposed  to  have  caused,  had 
taught  me  the  Beatitudes  by  heart,  that  I 
might  repeat  them  on  that  occasion  and  per- 
chance get  a  prize.  The  khawaja  was  the  first 
man  I  had  seen  dressed  in  efrenjee  (European 
costume).  The  native  dress  for  men  was  the 
shirwal  (ample  bloomers),  and  the  man  in 
pantaloons  was  a  great  curiosity.  I  repeated 
the  Beatitudes  in  the  august  presence  of  the 
khawaja  and  many  of  the  parents  and  the 
f  68   1 


AT   THE  FEET   OF   MY   TEACHERS 

school,  and  to  my  unspeakable  delight  received 
a  pen-knife  for  a  prize. 

About  this  time,  when  I  was  six  years  old, 
my  parents  decided  to  move  from  El-Shweir  to 
a  town  called  Betater,  situated  about  thirty 
miles  to  the  south  on  the  western  slopes  of 
Mount  Lebanon.  My  father  had  been  in  charge 
for  some  years  of  all  the  building  operations 
of  a  Frenchman  who  had  a  large  silk-spinning 
factory  in  that  town,  and  it  was  natural  for 
him  to  desire  to  have  his  family  with  him. 

To  depart  from  one's  kindred  in  Syria  has 
always  been  a  painful  operation,  from  the  time 
of  the  patriarch  Abraham.  The  thought  of 
being  buried  "in  the  land  of  strangeness"  is  to 
a  Syrian  especially  hard  to  bear.  But  if  the 
sepulchre  of  our  fathers  was  not  in  Betater,  our 
church  —  the  Greek  Orthodox  —  was  there  to 
give  us  spiritual  kinsmen,  and  to  give  our 
bodies  burial  in  its  consecrated  ground. 

On  a  bright  spring  morning,  late  in  April,  I 
was  awakened  from  sleep  at  early  dawn.  Com- 
[  69  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

ing  out  to  the  yard,  I  saw  three  mules  and  a 
donkey  standing  on  the  east  side  of  the  house. 
Two  of  the  mules  were  heavily  laden  with  our 
clothes-chests,  bedding,  and  other  movable 
furniture.  The  third  mule  was  made  ready  for 
my  mother  and  my  baby  sister  to  ride  on,  and 
the  donkey  was  likewise  fitted  for  my  sister, 
next  older,  and  my  brother,  next  younger  than 
myself,  and  me. 

Was  it  possible  that  I  was  to  have  such  a 
long  donkey-ride.^  The  very  earth  under  my 
feet  vibrated  with  joy.  It  was  not  at  all  painful 
to  leave  one's  kindred  if  by  so  doing  one  might 
have  such  a  ride! 

Neighbors  and  friends  stood  around  weeping 
and  lamenting  our  departure.  My  mother, 
with  streaming  eyes,  assured  them  that  our 
sojourn  in  the  "strange  country"  would  be 
short,  and  that  by  Allah's  ^  will  our  return  to 
our  kindred  was  assured.   Presently  our  neigh- 

^  Allah,  the  familiar  designation  for  the  Deity  in 
the  Arabic  language,  is  used  by  Christians  as  well  as 
by  Mohammedans. 

[  70  ] 


AT   THE   FEET   OF   MY   TEACHERS 

bor's  wife,  casting  a  bewildered  look  skyward 
above  the  oak  trees,  crossed  herself  and  in 
solemn  accents  said,  "God  cast  thee  off,  you 
evil  presence !  Off  at  the  beginning  of  this  mo- 
mentous day!''  She  spat  in  the  direction  of  the 
evil  object;  so  did  all  those  present,  making 
the  sign  of  the  cross.  It  was  a  crow!  The  black 
navigator  of  the  air  was  very  gay  on  that  spring 
morning,  regardless  of  all  solemn  abjuration 
and  vigorous  spitting.  But  he  was,  neverthe- 
less, a  decidedly  evil  omen  at  the  beginning  of 
a  journey.  This  had  been  proved  a  thousand 
times.  Presently  one  of  the  men  said,  "  I  see 
another!"  "Kheir,  kheir!''  (good,  good!)  ex- 
claimed the  others.  The  crows,  when  traveling 
in  pairs,  brought  no  evil  on  those  who  saw  them. 
They  neutralized  each  other. 

During  all  that  time,  however,  my  eyes  were 
fixed  on  the  donkey.  His  charms  were  enough 
to  neutralize  the  evil  of  a  thousand  and  one 
crows.  Every  movement  of  his  ears  carved  a 
line  in  my  heart.  Life  certainly  became  worth 
the  living  when  my  cousin  turned  around  and 

[  71   ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

said,  "Abraham,  come;  come  on  the  donkey^s 
back."  I  do  not  believe  I  weighed  more  than 
ten  ounces  when  I  was  being  transferred  from 
the  ground  to  the  cushioned  back  of  the  donkey. 
I  floated  in  the  ether.  Amidst  sobs  and  tears 
and  ''Maessalamy''  (go  in  safety),  "Allah  be 
with  you,"  "May  no  evil  touch  you,"  "Send 
back  good  news  with  the  muleteer,"  and  so 
forth,  the  muleteer,  after  invoking  the  Holy 
Name,  called, '' Dah,  dahT'  The  mules,  tossing 
their  heads  in  the  air,  proceeded  on  their  way; 
so  did  my  donkey,  to  whose  back  I  was  tied 
with  a  rope  to  keep  me  from  falling  when  he 
went  up  and  down  hills. 

Up  the  steep  hill  proceeded  our  little  caravan, 
reaching  the  crest  just  as  the  sun  began  to  gild 
"the  high  pinnacles  of  the  earth."  The  two 
muleteers  and  two  of  our  cousins  —  strong  and 
valiant  men  —  formed  our  escort.  The  picture 
of  my  sad  mother  on  that  morning  as  she  sat  on 
the  mule's  back,  the  right  end  of  her  mendeel 
(long  bead  scarf)  turned  under  her  chin  and 
thrown  over  the  left  shoulder,  my  baby  sister  in 

[  72   ] 


AT   THE   FEET   OF   MY   TEACHERS 

her  lap,  and  one  of  my  cousins  walking  by  her 
side,  stands  in  my  memory  as  the  original  of 
'The  Flight  to  Egypt." 

Miles  of  pine  trees  stretched  along  our  way. 
Rough,  rocky  roads  followed  the  slopes  of  the 
hills,  dipping  into  deep  valleys  and  climbing 
again  to  high  summits.  The  world  appeared 
to  me  delightfully  new  and  immeasurably  large. 
The  deep  blue  haze  of  the  distant  mountains 
seemed  like  the  border-line  of  another  world. 
Now  and  then  we  met  a  nobleman  in  richly 
embroidered  attire,  mounted  on  a  lavishly 
decorated  horse,  with  his  sword  dangling  at  his 
side  and  his  footmen  pacing  reverently  before 
him. 

Twice  we  halted  on  our  way  by  springs  of 
water  "to  sustain  our  hearts  with  food.''  My 
childish  eyes  never  beheld  a  more  delightful 
sight  than  that  of  the  "bread  bundles"  —  thin 
loaves  folded  together  like  napkins,  three  or 
four  in  a  bundle  —  as  they  were  pulled  by  the 
muleteer  out  of  the  saddlebag  filled  with  the 
delicacies  which  are  usually  provided  for  such 

[  73   ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

occasions  in  Syria.  One  bundle  contained  ripe 
olives  sprinkled  with  pulverized  thyme,  an- 
other, small  cakes  of  cheese  dipped  in  olive 
oil,  another,  figs  "cooked"  in  grape  molasses, 
another,  boiled  eggs,  etc.  We  arrived  at  our 
destination  about  dusk.  The  rope  with  which  I 
had  been  tied  to  the  donkey's  back  had  entered 
into  such  intimate  relations  with  my  legs  that 
when  I  dismounted  I  found  them  utterly  un- 
available for  use.  I  was  carried  into  the  house, 
most  deservedly.  The  half  of  a  double  house, 
into  which  our  family  was  ushered  upon  our 
arrival  at  Betater,  consisted  of  three  rooms,  — 
a  lower  room  where  we  lived  during  the  winter 
season,  an  upper  room  where  we  lived  the  rest 
of  the  year,  and  a  rear  storeroom. 

Betater  was  inhabited  by  Christians  and 
Druses,  who  were  in  the  majority  and  the  ruling 
class,  and  some  Mohammedans.  The  Christians 
represented  the  Greek  Orthodox,  Greek  Catho- 
lic, and  Maronite  churches.  As  usual,  they 
lived  at  war  with  one  another  and  united  as 
"Christians"    only    when    attacked    by    the 

[  74  ] 


THE  RIHBANY  HOME  AT  BETATER 

The  right  half  of  a  double  house 


AT   THE  FEET   OF   MY   TEACHERS 

Druses.  The  clannish  feuds  also  existed  within 
the  various  sects.  We,  however,  were  "  strang- 
ers," and,  having  no  clan  of  our  own  in  the 
town,  were  immune  from  attacks  by  any  and 
all  of  the  clans  because  of  our  weakness.  "Thou 
shalt  not  oppress  a  stranger"  is  a  command 
which  is  universally  observed  in  Syria.  How- 
ever, we  were  free  to  side  with  our  fellow  Greek 
Orthodox,  as  they  were  expected  to  defend  us. 
My  father,  however,  would  participate  in  no 
fight.  But  in  Betater  we  had  a  clan  of  Druse 
Sheikhs  who  were  the  noblemen  and  rulers  of 
the  community.  The  common  people  "be- 
longed" to  the  Sheikhs.  Each  Sheikh  was  the 
"lord  protector"  of  a  certain  number  of  fam- 
ilies. As  in  El-Shweir  we  had  no  aristocracy  of 
any  kind,  it  was  very  strange  to  me  that  our 
family  should  "belong"  to  a  superior  person- 
age. 

My  father  was  known  in  the  community 
as  the  "Master"  (builder).  Our  family  was 
designated  as  the  "Master's  family,"  and  I  was 
addressed  as  "Abraham,  the  Master's  son," 

[  75  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

just  as  Joshua  had  been  known  as  **the  son 
of  Nun.''  We  were  often  called  "Shweiriah," 
from  our  birthplace,  and, in  accordance  with 
the  ancient  Syrian  custom,  as,  "David,  son  of 
Jesse,  the  Bethlehemite."  The  Sheikhs  were 
to  me  a  new  human  species.  Their  costly  gar- 
ments of  choice  Oriental  fabrics,  their  richly 
inlaid  swords  and  thoroughbred  Arabian  horses, 
were  the  visions  of  a  new  world  for  me. 

I  was  carefully  taught  the  etiquette  of  life 
among  such  dignitaries.  When  saluting  a 
Sheikh  I  was  to  kiss  his  hand  and  call  him  "My 
Lord."  I  was  not  to  engage  in  conversation  in 
the  presence  of  a  Sheikh  without  first  having 
his  permission.  Coming  into  an  assembly  where 
a  Sheikh  was,  I  could  not  sit  down  until  he 
had  commanded  me  to  do  so.  To  these  and 
other  social  graces  I  applied  myself  diligently. 

It  was  among  those  Sheikhs  that  I  first  heard 
men  swear  by  their  heads.  Swearing  by  one's 
head  is  an  ancient  Oriental  custom,  peculiar  to 
aristocrats  and  inappropriately  imitated  at 
times  by  the  common  people.  It  always  betrays 

[  1(^  ] 


AT   THE   FEET   OF   MY   TEACHERS 

such  arrogance  and  haughtiness  as  to  show  why 
Jesus  said,  "Neither  shalt  thou  swear  by  thy 
head,  because  thou  canst  not  make  one  hair 
white  or  black."  There  also  I  first  arrived  at 
the  realization  that  the  priest  was  holier  than 
myself;  the  Sheikh  nobler.  Why .?  It  was  a  holy 
mystery.  The  priest  explained  it  to  me  a  few 
times  thus:  The  Gospel  said,  "Let  every  soul 
be  subject  unto  the  higher  powers  —  the  powers 
that  be  are  ordained  of  God."  So  the  priests 
and  aristocrats  were  those  "higher  powers." 
The  explanation  always  seemed  to  me  to  be 
simple,  authoritative,  and  fully  satisfactory. 

My  memories  of  our  first  few  years'  residence 
in  Betater  are  most  delightful.  The  inhabitants, 
Christians  and  Druses,  aristocrats  and  com- 
moners, rivaled  one  another  in  doing  us  favors. 
They  were  bound  that  the  ghareeh  (stranger) 
should  feel  perfectly  at  home  in  their  midst. 
When  the  fruit  and  vegetable  season  came, 
seeing  that  we  had  no  vineyards  of  our  own, 
our  new  neighbors  poured  in  upon  us  a  veri- 
table deluge  of  baskets  of  such  products  of 

[  77  1 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

the  soil.  In  our  first  and  second  year  in  the 
"land  of  strangeness"  so  many  baskets  of  the 
golden  grapes  of  Lebanon  were  sent  to  us  that 
we  made  our  whole  year's  supply  of  raisins, 
wine,  and  vinegar. 

I  shall  never  forget  that  awe-inspiring  mani- 
festation of  sympathy  for  us  by  the  people  of 
Betater  when  my  five-year-old  brother  died. 
Because  we  had  no  relatives  in  the  town  "to 
comfort  us,"  and  notwithstanding  the  fact  that 
the  deceased  was  only  a  child,  his  funeral 
equaled  in  dignity  that  of  an  influential  citizen. 
The  "comforters"  who  came  to  us  seemed  to 
me  a  multitude  which  no  man  could  number. 
Although  according  to  custom  only  a  few  of  the 
young  Sheikhs  represent  the  noble  clan  at  such 
a  funeral,  in  this  case  nearly  the  entire  clan 
attended.  They  came  up  to  our  house  with 
their  attendants  of  the  Druse  commoners,  in 
what  seemed  to  my  childish  mind  an  endless 
line  of  white  turbans,  long  beards,  Damascus 
gowns,  and  Persian  cloaks.  With  characteristic 
dignity  and  tender  Oriental  eff^usiveness  they 

[  78   ] 


AT   THE   FEET   OF   MY    TEACHERS 

assured  my  sorrowing  father  that  his  affliction 
was  theirs  also;  that  he  should  not  consider 
himself  a  stranger  in  their  midst,  because  they 
thought  of  him  as  one  of  them ;  and  that  their 
homes  and  all  they  possessed  were  at  his  dis- 
posal. 

My  first  visit  to  the  great  city  of  Beyrout 
was  an  epoch-maker.  I  was  not  yet  quite  nine 
when  my  father  yielded  to  my  long-continued 
pleading  with  him  to  take  me  to  the  far-famed 
metropolis.  As  the  common  people  of  Syria 
rarely  could  indulge  in  the  luxury  of  having 
merkuhs  (mounts)  in  traveling,  I  was  expected 
to  walk  all  the  way,  a  distance  of  about  fifteen 
miles.  I  use  the  word  '* miles"  here  in  accord- 
ance with  the  Western  custom.  In  my  native 
land  we  measured  distance  by  different  means. 
An  object  or  a  place  was  as  far  as  a  "stone's 
throw,"  or  the  *' smoking  of  a  cigarette,"  —  as 
the  Syrians  inhale  the  tobacco  smoke  deeply, 
the  literal  expression  is  the  **  drinking  of  a 
cigarette,"  —  or  an  hour's,  two  hours',  or  a 

[  79  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

day's  journey,  as  the  case  might  be.  Of  course 
I  agreed  to  walk  to  Beyrout  with  most  solemn 
affirmations.  My  father,  a  cousin  of  ours,  and 
I  proceeded  one  day  down  the  stony  footpaths 
on  the  western  slopes  of  Mount  Lebanon  toward 
the  ancient  city.  My  little  legs  remained  firm 
until  we  were  about  halfway  on  our  journey 
when  my  steps  began  to  falter.  The  gentlemen 
of  the  party  threatened  to  leave  me  behind, 
and  feigned  that  they  would  continue  on  their 
way  without  me.  Their  scheme,  however, 
failed  of  its  purpose;  I  could  not  be  aroused  to 
further  exertion.  I  simply  cried,  howled,  and 
implored  my  teasers.  Then,  I  assure  you,  there 
was  no  leaving  me  behind.  First,  Cousin 
Suleiman  carried  me  on  his  back  **a  lift,''  then 
father  came  second  with  another  lift,  and  so  on, 
until  we  reached  the  crowded,  crooked  streets 
of  Beyrout;  then  I  was  ready  again  to  walk. 

But  the  fatigue  of  the  journey  did  not  pre- 
vent my  father  and  Cousin  Suleiman  from  giv- 
ing me  most  earnestly  and  solemnly  detailed 
instructions  as  to  how  I  should  conduct  myself 
[  80  ] 


AT   THE   FEET   OF   MY   TEACHERS 

while  in  Beyrout.  I  was  not  to  gaze  curiously 
at  the  Mohammedans,  whom  I  knew  by  their 
white  turbans.  They  considered  us  kufar 
(infidels)  and  enemies  of  the  faith;  therefore 
they  were  ever  ready  for  the  slightest  provoca- 
tion to  beat  or  even  kill  us.  In  the  presence  of 
a  Mohammedan  I  was  to  assume  a  most  rever- 
ential and  humble  attitude. 

Again,  I  was  not  to  stray  away  from  my 
guardians,  —  not  even  a  few  yards,  —  because 
the  cursed  Jews  might  steal  me  and  murder  me. 
I  was  told  that  the  sons  of  Abraham  feasted  on 
the  blood  of  Christian  children.  Several  in- 
stances were  mentioned  to  me  when  Christian 
children,  known  to  my  kindred,  had  been  cap- 
tured in  the  Jewish  quarter  in  Beyrout  and  bled 
to  death  by  those  enemies  of  Christ.  My  flesh 
crept  and  crawled  when  the  process  of  **  bleed- 
ing'' was  described  to  me.  The  Christian  child 
was  led  into  a  chamber  within  seven  doors.  He 
was  stripped  naked,  placed  in  a  cradle  lined 
with  sharp  darning-needles  and  rocked  vio- 
lently until  every  drop  of  blood  in  him  had 
[  8i    ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

been  drawn;  the  blood  was  then  sealed  in 
bottles  and  preserved  for  the  Jusseh  (the  feast 
of  the  Passover).  How  my  people  secured  this 
accurate  knowledge  of  Jewish  cruelty,  how  they 
unlocked  the  secrets  of  those  chambers  of 
horror  which  existed  ^* within  seven  doors/' 
and  from  whose  bourne,  according  to  their  own 
statements,  no  traveler  ever  returned,  neither 
I  nor  any  other  Syrian  Christian  ever  thought 
of  asking. 

Amidst  such  apprehensions  and  fears  I  spent 
two  days  in  Beyrout  on  that  first  visit.  The 
city  seemed  endless  in  extent  and  alive  with 
mysteries.  There  I  stood  for  the  first  time  on 
the  seashore  and  watched  the  restless  waters 
with  worshipful  awe ;  there  I  first  learned  objec- 
tively what  the  word  "  carriage  "  meant,  saw  a 
few  kerosene  street  lamps,  ate  all  the  halaway 
(a  Syrian  sweet  dear  to  children)  I  wanted 
to  eat,  and  bought  a  little  harmonica,  the 
only  musical  instrument  that  our  family  ever 
possessed. 

In  the  absence  of  a  foreign  school  in  Betater 
[  82  1 


^^^tt.^m^imm  i 


I- 


mZ  <    « 


t 


\  rn^i 


^     """<«. 


I. 


■f-J   ^ 


!f 


AT   THE  FEET   OF  MY   TEACHERS 

I  resumed  my  studies  under  the  Maronite 
priest.  Our  own  priest  kept  no  school.  But  my 
mother  disHked  the  Maronites  very  much. 
Her  reason  for  this  was  that  they  did  not  bap- 
tize in  the  right  way;  that  in  making  the  sign 
of  the  cross  they  touched  the  left  shoulder 
before  the  right,  and  were  the  slaves  of  the  Pope 
of  Rome  who  shaved  all  his  face.'  Therefore 
when,  the  second  year  after  our  arrival  in 
Betater,  an  American  mission  school  was  opened 
in  the  town,  I  was  immediately  transferred  to  it. 
Both  Protestants  and  Maronites  were  in 
error,  but  the  Protestants  were  better  teachers. 
In  this  school  I  stayed  two  years.    I  read  a 

'  The  reader  must  remember  that  the  Maronite 
priests  who  are  subject  to  Rome  cut  the  hair  of  their 
heads,  but  not  their  beards,  but  the  Greek  Orthodox 
pride  themselves  on  the  fact  that,  after  consecration, 
their  priests  never  shave  or  cut  the  hair  of  their  heads, 
thus  conforming  strictly  to  the  law  of  the  "Nazarite," 
or  as  Scripture  has  it,  "separated  unto  God."  Thus 
when  Hannah,  the  mother  of  Samuel,  asked  a  "man 
child"  of  the  Lord  she  vowed,  saying,  "Then  I  will 
give  him  unto  the  Lord  all  the  days  of  his  life,  and 
there  shall  no  razor  come  upon  his  head."  I  Sam.  i, 
II.  See  also  Num.  vi,  5. 

[  83  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

large  part  of  the  Bible,  advanced  in  arithmetic 
up  to  ''long  division,"  had  a  few  lessons  in 
geography,  and  was  supposed  to  have  become 
efficient  enough  to  write  a  letter.  This,  how- 
ever, I  always  dreaded  when  called  upon  to  do 
it  by  my  father.  It  was  not  the  business  part 
of  the  letter  which  I  dreaded,  because  that  was 
dictated  to  me;  but  I  had  to  write  the  "preface," 
a  chapter  of  fulsome  salaams  and  laudatory 
phrases,  extolling  the  recipient,  without  which 
a  letter  was  little  short  of  an  insult.  Again,  I 
had  to  ascertain  "  the  day  of  the  month  "  which, 
in  the  entire  absence  of  calendars,  was  known 
only  to  a  few  select  minds.  When  the  question, 
"How  much  of  the  month  is  it?"  was  put  to 
me,  my  face  reddened  with  incredible  swiftness. 
And  when  I  was  ridiculed  by  the  men  present 
for  my  inexcusable  ignorance,  being  a  "school- 
boy," my  mother  would  come  to  the  rescue  by 
telling  those  men  that  they  themselves  did  not 
know  how  much  of  the  month  it  was,  and  they 
were  of  much  larger  dimensions  than  I  was.  I 
was  often  sent  to  the  priest  to  ask  him  what  day 
[  84  ] 


AT   THE   FEET   OF  MY   TEACHERS 

of  the  month  it  was.  He  usually  counted  on  his 
fingers  from  the  last  saint's  day,  according  to 
the  Eastern  calendar,  and  I  ran  home  with  the 
information  lest  I  should  forget  it  on  the  way. 
When  I  was  nine  years  old,  it  happened  one 
day  that  my  teacher  punished  me  rather 
severely.  I  grabbed  my  books  and  ran  to  where 
my  father  was  working,  crying  bitterly.  Of 
course  I  told  my  father  that  the  teacher  was 
absolutely  merciless.  He  seemed  very  much 
distressed  and  concluded  that  I  had  had  enough 
schooling  anyway,  and  that  it  was  time  that  I 
exchanged  books  for  tools  and  began  learning 
my  father's  trade.  It  was  so  ordered,  and, at  the 
age  of  nine  I  began  my  career  as  a  stone-mason. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE    RELIGION    OF   MY   FATHERS 

Let  now  the  story  of  my  industrial  evolution 
bide  its  time.  The  story  of  my  earliest  religious 
faith  and  life  should  have  precedence. 

In  the  absence  of  anything  to  the  contrary, 
I  have  reason  to  assume  that  my  first  Chris- 
tian ancestors  were  among  the  converts  of  Paul 
and  Barnabas  in  the  ancient  see  of  Antioch,  and 
that  a  Christian  ancestry  spanning  nineteen 
centuries  lies  behind  me.  Within  the  fold  of  the 
ancient  Greek  Orthodox  Church  I  first  learned 
to  lisp  the  names  of  God,  Christ,  the  Church, 
and  the  Gospel.  Mary,  the  "Mother  of  God," 
and  a  host  of  saints  also  claimed  my  affectionate 
reverence.  I  was  taught  by  my  parents,  more 
by  exam.ple  than  precept,  and  most  conscien- 
tiously, to  observe  the  ordinances  of  my  church. 

And  here  I  wish  to  speak  of  the  church  of  my 
fathers  and  my  childhood  and  youth,  not  accord- 
ing to  my  present  knowledge  of  it  as  a  student 
[  86  ] 


THE  RELIGION   OF   MY  FATHERS 

of  church  history,  but  as  I  knew  it  as  a  common 
worshiper,  and  as  it  is  known  to  the  large  major- 
ity of  its  adherents  all  over  the  world.' 

To  go  to  mass  and  to  believe  that  my  church 
was  the  one  and  only  true  church  were  my  first 
lessons  in  the  faith.  For  private  devotion  I  was 
taught  three  prayers,  the  Lord's  Prayer,  the 
Apostles'  Creed,  and  ''Hail  Mary."  I  was 
instructed  by  both  example  and  precept  to 
observe  the  fasts — the  Great  Lent,  which  pre- 
cedes Easter,  lasts  fifty  days;  the  Fast  of  the 
Nativity,  forty  days ;  the  Fast  of  the  Apostles, 
generally  forty  days;  the  Fast  of  the  Virgin, 
fifteen  days ;  and  every  Wednesday  and  Friday. 
During  all  these  fasts  the  faithful  are  expected 
to  abstain  from  such  foods  as  meat,  eggs,  milk, 
cheese,  and,  during  the  Great  Lent  and  the 
Fast  of  the  Virgin,  fish,  excepting  on  two  occa- 
sions. To  make  an  honest  confession,  the  fasts 
were  most  oppressive  to  me.  During  Lent  I 
was  expected  to  taste  no  food  until  noon.  I  was 
willing  to  abstain  from  meat  foods,  but  the 
See  Appendix. 

[  87  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

occasions  when  I  did  really  fast  until  noon  were 
extremely  rare.  So  long  as  I  could  obtain  food, 
by  either  fair  or  foul  means,  I  broke  the  fast 
early  in  the  day,  on  the  theory  that  devouring 
hunger  was  a  greater  imperative  than  any 
church  ordinance. 

No  pews  are  allowed  in  the  Eastern  churches. 
The  people  stand  with  folded  arms  during  the 
entire  service.  Two  small  groups  of  readers  or 
singers,  one  to  the  right,  the  other  to  the  left  of 
the  altar,  assist  the  priest  at  the  mass.  When 
at  church  I  always  stood  by  the  reading-desk, 
where  I  had  a  good  view  of  the  priest.  At  one 
time  I  was  accorded  the  honor  of  reading  the 
Epistle,  which  preceded  the  reading  of  the 
Gospel  at  the  mass.  I  could  not  have  been 
much  more  than  eight  years  old  at  the  time. 
One  of  the  good  old  men  taught  me  for  about 
two  weeks  how  to  intone  the  Apostolic  lines. 
The  Epistle  was  from  St.  Paul  and  began  with 
the  word,  "Brethren."  When  the  solemn  mo- 
ment arrived,  I  was  beckoned  to  stand  before 
the  anastasis     (a  partition  which  screens  the 


THE  RELIGION   OF  MY   FATHERS 

altar  from  the  congregation)  immediately  in 
front  of  the  Royal  Gate,  through  which  only 
the  priest  is  permitted  to  pass.  My  normal  con- 
sciousness lasted  until  I  reached  the  appointed 
spot  and  uttered  the  word,  "  Brethren."  Then 
all  was  darkness.  I  could  hear  a  hollow,  sepul- 
chral voice  issuing  from  somewhere.  I  woke  up 
again  by  the  reader's  desk.  My  father  reached 
down  and  kissed  me.  The  singer  put  his  hand 
on  my  head  and  whispered,  "Bright  boy!" 
That  restored  my  soul. 

An  event  which  occurred  about  this  time  and 
which  burned  itself  deeply  into  my  memory, 
was  a  fight  which  took  place  in  church  during 
mass.  It  is  the  custom  in  the  Greek  Church  for 
a  layman  to  lead  the  congregation  in  the  Lord's 
Prayer  and  the  Apostles'  Creed.  An  elderly 
man  of  a  certain  clan  had  been  in  the  habit  of 
leading  in  the  Lord's  Prayer  for  years.  Certain 
men  of  another  clan  thought  that  old  Sallume 
had  enjoyed  that  honor  long  enough  and  con- 
cluded to  wrest  it  from  him.  On  one  Sunday 
morning,  as  Sallume  began  to  repeat  the  Lord's 
[  89  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

Prayer,  a  man  of  the  opposing  clan  began  to 
repeat  the  same  at  the  reading-desk  on  the  left. 

Sallume  was  greatly  exasperated.  Addressing 
both  the  Almighty  and  his  saucy  opponent, 
Sallume's  wrathful  version  of  the  Prayer 
was  thus:  "Our  Father'' — ("Hush  up,  you 
wretch")  — "Hallowed  be"—  ("It  is  my 
heritage  from  my  fathers,  you  dog")  —  "thy 
name."  ("  I  will  tread  on  your  neck  "  —  "  Curse 
your  entire  clan,"  and  so  on).  The  other  man 
was  no  milder  in  his  devotional  language,  and 
they  met  in  combat  in  front  of  the  Royal  Gate. 
The  men  of  their  respective  clans  rushed  for- 
ward from  all  parts  of  the  church,  and  the  fight 
became  general.  It  was  at  that  point  of  the 
mass  when  the  priest  was  repeating  what  are 
called  "the  mystic  words,"  and,  according  to 
his  holy  orders,  he  could  not  look  back  upon 
the  congregation,  even  though  the  church  were 
deluged  with  blood.  But  soon  after  he  was  done 
with  the  mystic  rite,  he  pulled  off  his  sacred 
robes  from  him,  grabbed  a  heavy  staff,'  and 

'  In  the  absence  of  seats  in  the  Greek  churches,  long 

[  90  ] 


THE   RELIGION   OF   MY   FATHERS 

cleared  the  church.  The  fighting  continued 
outside  the  building  until  the  Turkish  soldiers 
arrived. 

The  most  impressive  part  of  the  Greek 
Orthodox  service  (aside  from  the  great  festi- 
vals), which  I  still  remember  with  grateful 
appreciation,  was  the  administering  of  the 
"holy  korban"  (sacrament  of  the  Lord's  Sup- 
per) to  a  communicant  during  mass.  The  scene 
never  failed  to  thrill  me  through  and  through 
with  religious  emotion. 

The  humble  applicant  for  the  adorable  sacra- 
mental elements,  who  has  previously  confessed 
his  sins  to  the  priest,  with  his  head  bowed  and 
his  arms  folded  on  his  breast,  comes  forward 
and  stands  immediately  in  front  of  the  Royal 
Gate.  He  lifts  his  eyes  slightly  toward  the 
impressively  silent  congregation  and  says, 
"Forgive  me,  0  Christians,  whatever  trans- 
gressions I  may  have  committed  against  you!" 
—  which  petition  the  congregation  answer  in 

T-shaped  staves  are  provided  for  elderly  men,  on  which 
they  lean  forward  during  mass. 

t  91  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

scarcely  audible  accents,  "May  God  forgive 
you!''  Then,  as  the  priest  appears  through  the 
Royal  Gate  with  the  sacred  cup,  the  applicant 
turns  and  faces  the  altar,  reaches  for  the  silk 
napkin  hanging  from  the  priest's  hand,  and 
holds  it  under  his  chin,  to  guard  against  the 
possibility  of  any  part  of  the  consecrated  ele- 
ments dropping  onto  the  floor;  and,  as  the  priest 
lifts  the  golden  spoon  out  of  the  cup  with  its 
precious  contents  of  bread  and  wine,  and  con- 
veys it  to  the  lips  of  the  penitent  son  of  the 
Church,  the  singers  chant  alternately  and  most 
impressively  the  solemn  words:  "Accept  me 
this  day  as  partaker  of  thy  mystic  supper,  O 
Son  of  God,  for  I  will  not  betray  thy  secret  to 
thine  enemies,  nor  give  thee  a  kiss  as  Judas  did, 
but  like  the  thief  cry  to  thee.  Remember  me, 
O  Lord,  when  thou  comest  into  thy  kingdom." 
Many  years  have  elapsed  since  my  eyes  last 
beheld  such  a  scene;  I  have  given  up  belief 
in  the  dogma  of  transubstantiation  and  the 
authority  of  the  confessional ;  nevertheless,  the 
religious  feelings  I  experienced  in  my  early 
I  92  1 


THE   RELIGION   OF   MY   FATHERS 

years  on  such  occasions  remain  with  me,  pre- 
cious spiritual  reaHties. 

The  feasts  and  festivals  of  the  Greek  Church 
filled  my  boyish  heart  with  delight,  so  spectac- 
ular and  so  full  of  mystery  were  they.  The 
Syrian  churches  do  not  make  much  of  Christ- 
mas because  originally  it  was  not  an  Oriental 
holiday.  New  Year's,  or  "Good-Morning 
Day,''  as  the  Syrians  call  it,  was  the  day  when 
we  exchanged  presents  and  indulged  in  much 
gayety.  But  what  was  of  absorbing  interest  to 
me  as  a  boy,  aside  from  the  few  coppers  and 
sugar-plums  that  I  got  for  presents,  was  the 
offering  I  carried  to  the  fountain,  early  on  New 
Year's  morning.  My  older  sisters  went  with 
their  jars  to  carry  water  for  the  household,  and 
I  went  with  them.  We  took  with  us  a  few  hand- 
fuls  of  wheat  and  cereals  and  cast  them  rever- 
ently into  the  water,  saying  "Good-morning, 
fountain!  Bless  and  increase  our  grain!"  So 
did  we  ignorantly  practice  the  modes  of  wor- 
ship of  our  remote  Oriental  ancestors,  who 
poured  their  gifts  to  Astarte  into  the  streams 

[  93    ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

of  Syria  ages  before  Christianity  was  born. 
And  who  are  you,  child  of  but  yesterday,  to  say 
it  was  all  empty  superstition  ? 

But  what  was  all  that  compared  to  the  feast 
of  Epiphany,  which  we  celebrated  in  commemo- 
ration of  the  baptism  of  Jesus  in  the  river 
Jordan,  twelve  days  after  Christmas?  It  is 
known  to  the  people  as  El-Gitas  (dipping  in 
water).  I  was  taught  to  believe,  and  most  joy- 
ously did  believe,  that  the  rivers  and  fountains 
of  the  entire  world  became  suddenly  holy  about 
sunset  on  the  eve  of  Epiphany.  Wild  beasts 
left  not  their  dens  the  entire  night,  and  were  all 
rendered  harmless  as  doves,  because  the  Christ 
was  on  his  way  to  the  Jordan.  The  trees 
"knelt"  before  the  passing  Saviour,  with  the 
exception  of  the  mulberry  and  the  fig,  which 
saucily  remained  standing.  It  was  explained  to 
me  in  this  connection  that  the  mulberry  tree 
was  too  proud  to  kneel  because  it  produced 
silk,  and  the  fig  tree  had  a  grudge  against  the 
Master  because  he  once  cursed  it.  And  how 
I  would  go  out  on  that  blessed  night  and  peer 

[   94   ] 


THE   RELIGION   OF   MY   FATHERS 

into  the  darkness  to  see  a  "kneeling"  tree !  But 
I  was  always  told  that  only  a  saint  could  see 
such  things. 

But  my  failure  to  see  a  "kneeling"  tree 
always  awakened  my  greater  curiosity  to  know 
whether  any  saint  then  living  ever  did  really 
behold  such  a  sight.  I  was  told  that  only  one 
godly  man  (who,  unfortunately,  had  been  dead 
for  many  years)  of  our  own  clan  did  see  a 
"kneeling"  tree,  under  peculiarly  interesting 
circumstances.  The  custom  is  that  on  the 
blessed  night  of  Epiphany  many  men  go  to  the 
streams  of  water,  preferably  about  midnight^ 
and  "baptize"  themselves  with  Christ.  It  was 
at  such  a  time  that  the  devout  Abu-Simaan 
sought  a  creek  which  ran  near  our  town  to 
secure  a  closer  fellowship  with  the  Saviour 
through  the  commemorative  act.  He  removed 
his  garments  and  instinctively  placed  them  on 
the  dry  limbs  of  a  fallen  tree  close  by  the 
stream,  instead  of  on  the  wet  ground,  and 
plunged  into  the  water.  Emerging  from  the 
water  he  was  amazed  to  find  that  both  the  tree 

[  95   ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

and  his  belongings  were  gone.  Greatly  bewil- 
dered, he  looked  hither  and  thither,  until  he 
saw  his  clothes  in  the  top  of  a  lofty  poplar  tree, 
some  distance  away.  With  great  joy  Abu- 
Simaan  quickly  realized  that  when  he  threw 
his  garments  over  its  branches  the  tree  was 
kneeling!  That  he  had  had  the  rare  fortune  to 
be  *' baptized"  just  at  the  most  blessed  moment 
when  the  Christ  was  walking  the  earth  in  the 
mystic  shadows  which  veiled  Him  from  mortal 
eyes.  The  devout  Abu-Simaan  crossed  himself 
repeatedly,  said  his  prayer,  and  then  climbed 
the  tree  and  regained  his  belongings.  But  when- 
ever I  heard  that  enchanting  story  what  forced 
itself  upon  my  little  mind,  and  almost  spoiled 
the  miracle  for  me,  was  the  significant  question, 
**How  did  poor  old  Abu-Simaan  manage,  espe- 
cially in  his  Adamic  state,  to  climb  to  the  top  of 
such  a  tall  tree.^'' 

The  material  feast  of  Epiphany  was  zulahiah 
(fried  cakes  of  the  doughnut  variety).  I  do  not 
remember  that  I  ever  was  unwilling  to  do  any 
errand  for  my  mother  which  served  to  further 

[  96  ] 


THE   RELIGION   OF   MY   FATHERS 

the  cause  of  "frying"  on  that  sacred  occasion. 
The  zulabiah  must  be  fried  in  pure  olive  oil  over 
a  fire  of  olive  wood,  whenever  it  could  be  ob- 
tained, for  the  olive  is  the  most  sacred  among 
the  trees.  It  was  supreme  joy  to  me  to  feed  the 
fire  while  my  mother  fried  the  cakes,  to  see  the 
bars,  coils,  and  balls  of  dough  swell  and  sizzle 
in  the  hot  oil,  and  to  watch  my  mother  take 
them  out  of  the  frying-pan,  brown  and  hissing, 
and  drop  them  into  a  large  basin  of  grape 
molasses.  A  choice  quantity  of  zulabiah  we 
gave  to  the  priest,  when  he  came  with  his  at- 
tendant on  Epiphany  day  and  sprinkled  holy 
water  at  the  door  and  in  the  four  corners  of 
the  house,  with  an  olive  branch  tied  to  a  small 
cross. 

"Baptizing"  the  sacred  yeast  was  a  delight 
to  me.  At  every  baking  the  Syrian  housewife 
saves  out  a  small  lump  of  dough  for  a  "leaven" 
for  the  next  baking.  But  at  the  last  baking 
before  Epiphany  no  leaven  is  saved.  A  new 
leaven,  miraculously  raised  at  this  time,  pro- 
vided the  yeast  for  the  coming  year.    My 

[  97  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

mother  would  mix  a  small  quantity  of  dough, 
just  in  cold  water,  and  no  yeast  whatever,  tie  it 
up  in  a  piece  of  white  cloth  and  give  it  to  me 
to  hang  up  in  a  tree  that  "knelt."  For  three 
mornings  I  carried  the  yeast  to  the  fountain, 
immersed  it  three  times,  in  the  name  of  the 
Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost,  repeating  the 
chant  of  my  Church:  "By  Thy  baptism,  O 
Lord,  in  the  river  Jordan  was  made  clear  the 
adoration  of  the  Holy  Trinity.  The  voice  of  the 
Father  witnessed  to  Thee,  calling  Thee  the 
beloved  Son.  And  the  Spirit  in  the  form  of  a 
dove  also  witnessed  to  Thee.  O  Thou  who  hast 
appeared  and  enlightened  the  world.  Thou 
Christ-God,  glory  be  to  Thee!" 

The  yeast  hung  in  the  tree  for  three  days, 
then  was  taken  into  the  house,  and  behold  a 
miracle !  The  dough  was  raised  without  yeast ! 
Did  not  my  remote  un-Christian  ancestors  so 
manifest  their  devotion  when  their  sacred  trees 
hung  with  votive  gifts  ? 

The  Easter  festival  stands  greatest  among 
the  festivals  of  the  Greek  church.   Our  priest 

[  98   ] 


THE    PRIEST    SPRINKLING    HOLY    WATER 
ON     EPIPHANY    DAY 


THE   RELIGION   OF  MY   FATHERS 

often  said  that  the  picture  of  the  Virgin  looked 
very  sad  on  Good  Friday  and  smiled  on  Easter. 

The  Great  Lent  was  to  us  a  period  of  self- 
denial  and  religious  contemplation  and  prayer. 
I  would  not  say  that  we  were  always  burning 
with  zeal  during  this  long  period  for  the  things 
of  the  spirit.  We  did,  however,  pray  more  dur- 
ing Lent  than  at  any  other  time.  I  repeated 
my  three  prayers  mentioned  above,  every  night, 
and  knelt '  and  kissed  the  ground  (a  sign  of 
humility  before  God)  from  three  to  six  times, 
while  I  repeated  these  words :  "O  God  of  power, 
be  thou  with  us;  for  in  times  of  sorrow  we 
have  no  helper  but  thee;  O  God  of  power,  be 
with  us." 

But  the  somber  hue  of  those  days  of  self- 
denial  began  to  grow  lighter  and  more  cheery 
for  me  when  my  mother  commenced,  about  the 
middle  of  the  lenten  season,  to  make  my  holi- 
day clothes.  I  was  not  "fitted"  for  the  occa- 
sion at  a  department  store;  in  those  days  we 

Kneeling  in  prayer  is  not  required  by  the  Greek 
Church  except  during  Lent. 

[  99  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

never  even  so  much  as  heard  of  such  an  estab- 
Jishment.  The  dry-goods  peddler  came  to  our 
house,  and  out  of  his  well-stocked  pack  brought 
forth  fabrics  of  dazzling  colors  and  designs. 
The  cloth  for  my  holiday  attire  was  never  "cut " 
either  on  a  Tuesday  or  in  the  "waning  of  the 
moon."  Garments  cut  on  such  unauspicious 
occasions  brought  evil  upon  their  wearer.  No 
pattern  was  needed ;  I  myself  was  there  and  the 
suit  was  fashioned  after  my  own  mortal  frame. 
To  watch  every  stitch,  and  to  try  the  garments 
on  at  frequent  intervals,  provided  me  with  a 
protracted  entertainment,  with  a  series  of  sen- 
sations which  made  my  passage  through  the 
sober  days  of  Lent  to  the  Easter  festival  not 
only  tolerable,  but  extremely  interesting.  On 
Good  Friday  I  flew  over  the  hills  to  gather  wild 
flowers  with  which  the  cross  was  covered  in  a 
little  coffin,  in  commemoration  of  the  burial  of 
Jesus.  Saturday  was  spent  in  gathering  roots 
and  vegetables  with  which  we  colored  the  mul- 
titude of  Easter  eggs.  On  the  night  of  that  day 
I  went  to  bed  with  my  holiday  clothes  on,  in 

[    100    ] 


THE   RELIGION   OF   MY   FATHERS 

order  not  to  lose  the  precious  moments  of  the 
morning  in  dressing,  after  the  church  bell  had 
called  the  faithful  to  the  sanctuary.  Soon  after 
midnight,  on  Saturday,  the  church  bell  pealed 
the  glorious  message  of  the  Resurrection.  I 
woke  with  the  words,  "Christ  is  risen!"  on  my 
lips.  "Of  a  truth  he  is  risen!"  was  the  answer. 
I  kissed  my  parents'  hands,  and  we  all  pro- 
ceeded to  the  church  to  enjoy  the  glorious 
Easter  ritual. 

The  supreme  moment  for  me  during  the  Eas- 
ter mass  came  when  the  "charge"  was  made, 
symbolizing  the  victory  of  Christ  over  Satan. 
The  entire  congregation,  following  the  priest, 
marched  three  times  around  the  church,  each 
carrying  a  lighted  taper.  Then  all  marched  out 
of  the  church,  only  one  man,  who  represented 
Satan,  remaining  inside.  He  closed  the  church 
door  and  stood  close  behind  it,  to  prevent  the 
risen  Lord  from  entering  into  heaven.  I  never 
can  think  of  that  "multitude  that  kept  holy- 
day,"  of  their  many-colored  garments,  of  the 
ringing  voice  of  the  priest,  and  of  the  host  of 
[   loi   ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

lighted  tapers  which  converted  the  assembly 
into  a  mass  of  flame,  without  thinking  of  the 
words  of  Isaiah,  "Ye  shall  have  a  song,  as  in  the 
night  when  a  holy  solemnity  is  kept!" 

The  priest  who  represented  Christ  ap- 
proached the  door  with  the  multitude  behind 
him  and  in  a  most  solemn  voice  chanted  the 
words  of  the  psalmist:  "Lift  up  your  heads,  O 
ye  gates,  and  be  ye  lifted  up,  ye  everlasting 
doors,  and  the  King  of  Glory  shall  come  in!" 
The  man  inside  said  in  a  sneering  tone,  "Who 
is  this  King  of  Glory?"  "The  Lord  of  Hosts," 
said  the  priest,  "he  is  the  King  of  Glory!" 
Thrice  was  the  chant  repeated;  then  the  hin- 
dering Satan,  vanquished,  barked  like  a  dog, 
and  the  priest  forced  the  door  open  and 
marched  in  with  the  multitude,  chanting,  "  Let 
God  arise  and  let  his  enemaes  be  scattered!" 

In  those  days  my  mother  Church  was  all- 
sufficient  for  me.  The  so-called  "period  of 
storm  and  stress"  in  religion  is  unknown  to 
sacramental  worship.  I  was  born  into  my  faith ; 
and  my  faith  was  ready-made  for  me.  The  con- 
[    102    1 


THE   RELIGION   OF  MY   FATHERS 

fessional,  fasts,  and  sacraments  of  the  Church 
met  my  every  need.  Reasoning  about  rehgion 
was  never  known  to  my  forefathers,  and  I  was 
not  supposed  to  go  so  far  as  to  indulge  in  it.  But 
I  did,  and  that  early  in  my  youth.  Early  in  my 
youth  I  felt  the  inward  urgency  to  reason,  not 
only  within  the  tenets  of  my  faith,  but  about 
and  beyond  them.  But  the  atmosphere  of  my 
early  life  was  not  favorable  to  such  modes  of 
thinking.  Therefore,  my  battling  with  the  issues 
of  religion  had  to  be  postponed  to  a  later  time. 


CHAPTER  V 

A   STONE-MASON 

When  I  was  taken  out  of  school  at  the  age  of 
nine  and  introduced  to  manual  labor,  my  father 
deemed  it  wise  to  have  me  begin  my  industrial 
career  under  other  auspices  than  his  own.  The 
French  silk-spinner,  M.  Fortune  Portalis,  of 
whose  building  enterprises  my  father  had  sole 
charge,  employed  a  large  number  of  boys  and 
girls  in  his  factory,  where  the  work  was  sup- 
posed to  be  less  arduous  than  that  which  the 
building  operations  required.  The  great  French- 
man was  known  to  us  as  "Fertoni"  —  an 
Arabianized  form  of  his  given  name.  He  was 
a  tyrant,  a  hero,  a  heartless  employer,  a  philan- 
thropist, a  physician,  a  shrewd  business  man, 
an  infidel,  and  a  churchman,  all  in  one.  For 
me  he  was  the  supreme  wonder  of  the  mundane 
order.  The  Turkish  Government  —  always 
cruel  to  her  own  subjects,  but  helpless  in  deal- 
ing with  foreigners  —  had  no  control  over  Fer- 

[   104  ] 


A  STONE-MASON 

toni  whatever.  In  dealing  with  his  employees 
he  was  himself  the  employer,  the  judge,  and  the 
jury;  he  would  either  bribe  them  with  money 
or  coerce  them  with  the  whip,  just  as  it  suited 
him.  The  inhabitants  of  the  region  for  miles 
around  his  factory,  both  aristocrats  and  com- 
moners, contemplated  him  with  profound  awe. 
Upon  our  arrival  in  Betater  the  wonders 
which  were  in  store  for  me  to  see  were  Fertoni 
and  his  kirkhana  (factory).  The  kirkhana  had 
a  gable  roof  covered  with  zinc;  it  contained 
wheels,  water-pipes,  a  furnace,  and  a  boiler  — 
things  which  my  eyes  never  had  seen  before. 
And  what  was  still  more  enchanting  than  all 
these  was  the  fact  that  Fertoni's  bedroom  was 
lined  with  pictures  —  wall-paper  which  was 
utterly  unknown  to  us.  And,  oh,  how  I  would 
come  to  the  window  of  that  bedroom,  when 
the  dread  Fertoni  was  nowhere  to  be  seen,  and 
gaze  upon  those  decorated  walls  as  upon  the 
bewitching  scenes  of  paradise!  The  bedstead 
and  the  fringed  counterpane,  also,  enhanced  in 
my  mind  the  greatness  of  France. 

[   105  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

The  first  duty  to  which  I  addressed  myself 
as  an  industrial  worker  at  Fertoni's  kirkhana 
was  the  picking  up  of  silk'  cocoons  from  under 
the  many-storied  drying-tables,  on  which  the 
precious  cocoons  were  spread  and  turned  over 
twice  a  day  by  m.en  who  were  called  "turners," 
in  order  to  dry  speedily  and  evenly.  My  wage 
was  two  pennies  per  day,  and  the  hours  of  labor 
from  dawn  until  dusk. 

I  do  not  remember  that  following  the  "  turn- 
ers" and  picking  up  cocoons  was  in  itself  a 
very  hard  task,  but  when  I  think  of  the  fore- 
man who  ruled  over  us  in  those  days,  the 
month  I  spent  under  him  as  a  cocoon-picker 
rises  in  my  mind  as  a  harrowing  memory. 
Dawood,  son  of  Suleiman,  was  perhaps  the 
meanest  man  Fertoni  ever  honored  with  the 
office  of  a  foreman.  I  never  saw  that  man  smile. 
He  stands  before  me  now  in  the  form  of  a  man 
of  medium  size,  his  face  pale,  his  lips  thin  and 
firm,  his  features  rigid  and  ungenerous,  his 
speech  harsh  and  profane,  and  very  often  rein- 
forced with  the  cruel  use  of  a  slender,  tough 
\   io6  1 


A  STONE-MASON 

stick  which  never  left  his  hand  during  business 
hours.  Fertoni  himself  was  a  tyrant,  but  his 
tyranny  had  somewhat  of  the  heroic  in  it, 
which  often  made  it  an  object  of  admiration. 
But  Dawood  was  an  arrogant  coward,  and  my 
fear  of  him  was  thoroughly  saturated  with 
hatred  and  contempt.  All  the  men  hated  him, 
but  could  not  chastise  him  because  back  of 
him  was  Fertoni,  and  back  of  Fertoni,  France. 
I  bore  the  yoke  of  the  petty  tyrant  for  a  month, 
and  if  I  were  to  live  my  life  over  again  I  should 
implore  the  Almighty  to  blot  out  that  month 
from  the  calendar  of  my  years.  My  father's 
object  in  having  me  begin  my  industrial  career 
under  the  authority  of  strangers  was  to  give 
me  a  sort  of  discipline  which  he  thought  I 
would  not  get  under  him.  But  my  mother 
thought  that  a  month's  work  under  the  hated 
Dawood  was  discipline  enough  for  any  one; 
therefore  at  her  urging  I  was  taken  out  of  the 
silk  factory  at  the  end  of  the  month  and  put  to 
work  with  my  father  as  an  apprentice  to  the 
stone-mason  trade. 

[  107  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

At  that  time  my  father  was  at  the  height  of 
his  prosperity.  He  employed  from  thirty  to 
fifty  men,  and  was  sought  from  far  and  near  as 
a  builder.  The  men  under  his  control  were 
classified  on  religious  lines,  following  the  Syrian 
custom  from  time  immemorial.  They  num- 
bered so  many  Druses,  so  many  Greek  Ortho- 
dox, so  many  Maronites,  and  so  forth.  The 
common  laborer  received  five  piastres  (twenty 
cents)  a  day,  and  the  master  mason  from  twelve 
to  fifteen  piastres.  My  social  environment  as 
an  industrial  worker  afforded  no  strong  incen- 
tives to  progress.  From  the  days  of  the  Pyra- 
mids and  the  Hanging  Gardens  of  Babylon  to 
this  day  no  spark  has  ever  disturbed  the  clod 
of  the  laboring  masses  of  the  East.  Their  lot 
gave  no  play  to  the  imagination.  They  knew 
no  common  interest,  no  collective  action,  no 
citizenship,  no  political  rights.  Their  day's 
work  began  at  dawn  and  ended  at  dusk.  The 
moral  atmosphere  I  breathed  among  those  men 
did  not  really  blossom  with  lofty  ideals.  Owing 
to  the  complete  segregation  of  the  sexes  in  the 
[   io8  ] 


A   STONE-MASON 

Orient  and  the  absence  of  education,  male  soci- 
ety is  by  no  means  "holy  in  all  manner  of  con- 


versation." 


One  of  the  never-to-be-forgotten  phenomena 
of  my  early  years,  a  spectacle  which  the  most 
extravagantly  imaginative  American  mind  can- 
not picture,  was  the  coming  of  the  locusts  into 
our  part  of  the  country.  If  my  memory  serves 
me  well,  I  was  about  twelve  years  old  when  my 
father  and  all  his  men,  together  with  all  the 
male  population  over  fifteen,  were  impressed 
by  the  governor  of  our  district  to  fight  the 
devastating  hosts  of  Oriental  locusts.  No  one 
who  has  not  seen  such  a  spectacle  and  the  deso- 
lation those  winged  creatures  leave  behind  them 
can  appreciate  in  the  least  degree  the  force  of 
the  saying  of  "the  Lord  God  of  the  Hebrews" 
to  Pharaoh,  "If  thou  refuse  to  let  my  people 
go,  behold,  to-morrow  I  will  bring  the  locusts 
into  thy  coasts."  For  a  few  weeks  before  they 
deluged  our  district  the  news  came  with  the 
caravans  that  the  locusts  were  sweeping  toward 
our  region  from  the  "land  of  the  south."  We 

[   109  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

youngsters  did  not  know  why  our  elders  were 
so  terror-stricken  when  they  heard  of  it,  until 
the  scourge  had  come  and  gone. 

It  was  a  few  weeks  before  the  time  of  the 
harvest  when  the  clouds  of  locusts  enveloped 
our  community.  They  hid  the  sun  with  their 
greenish-yellow  wings,  covered  the  trees  and 
the  ground,  the  walls  and  roofs  of  the  houses, 
and  dashed  in  our  faces  like  flakes  of  snow 
driven  by  the  wind.  The  utter  hopelessness  of 
the  task  which  confronted  our  people  and 
seemed  to  unite  all  classes  in  despair,  assumed 
in  my  sight  a  very  comic  aspect,  and  converted 
the  calamity  into  a  holiday.  It  was  so  amusing 
to  me  to  see  our  sedate  aristocrats  and  old  men 
and  women  join  the  youth  and  common  labor- 
ers in  shouting,  beating  on  tin  cans,  firing  mus- 
kets, setting  brush  on  fire,  striking  at  the  cursed 
insects  with  their  hands,  stamping  them  with 
their  feet,  and  praying  God  to  send  "a  strong 
wind''  to  drive  the  enemy  of  man  away.  Every 
mutekellif  (payer  of  the  toll-tax)  had  to  fight  the 
locusts  for  so  many  days  or  hire  a  substitute. 
[   no  ] 


A   STONE-MASON 

I  do  not  clearly  remember  whether  it  was  the 
beating  on  tin  cans  and  howHng  of  the  people 
or  the  prayed-for  "strong  wind''  that  drove  the 
merry  locusts  away.  What  I  do  remember  is 
that  when  they  did  go  away  they  left  the  land 
almost  stripped  clean  of  every  green  thing.  It 
was  no  vain  threatening  when  the  writer  of 
Deuteronomy  warned  Israel,  saying,  "If  thou 
wilt  not  hearken  unto  the  voice  of  the  Lord  thy 
God,  to  observe  to  do  all  his  commandments 
...  All  thy  trees  and  fruit  of  thy  land  shall 
the  locust  consume." 

Of  the  hardships  of  my  environment  I  had 
my  full  share  as  a  boy.  The  entire  lack  of 
machinery  doubled  the  hardships  of  our  work. 
The  long  hours  of  labor  and  the  bad  sanitation 
were  a  constant  menace  to  both  the  soul  and 
the  body.  When  our  work  took  us  away  from 
our  home  town,  we  generally  traveled  by  night, 
"to  save  time''  and  to  escape  the  heat  of  the 
day.  Sometimes  we  would  travel  all  night, 
afoot,  carrying  our  tools  and  other  belong- 
ings on  our  backs.    As  the  Master's  son  I  was 

[   III   ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

often  relieved  of  carrying  tools  by  the  men, 
but  it  was  hard  enough  for  a  tender  youth  to 
undergo  even  the  ordinary  hardships  of  such  a 
life. 

But  my  industrial  career  had  a  brighter  side. 
As  the  Master's  son  I  enjoyed  privileges  which 
seldom  fall  to  an  apprentice.  I  was  second  in 
command  over  the  men,  after  my  father,  and 
for  that  reason  they  accorded  me  the  respect 
which  my  years  did  not  really  merit.  The 
master  masons  under  my  father  gave  me  every 
advantage  to  learn  the  trade.  At  the  early  age 
of  fourteen  I  was  allowed  to  "mount  the  wall," 
—  to  do  actual  building,  —  and,  at  the  age  of 
sixteen,  I  was  classed  and  paid  wages  as  a 
"master."  I  was  very  thorough,  very  conscien- 
tious in  my  work,  and  was,  therefore,  in  great 
demand.  My  father  was  very  much  pleased 
with  my  progress  and  had  no  doubt  but  that  I 
would  continue  the  traditions  of  the  family  as  a 
stone-mason.  But  the  mysteries  of  life  are  so 
deep  and  so  numerous  that,  even  in  a  static 
society  such  as  that  into  which  I  was  born,  no 
[   112  ] 


/i 


SUPPORTING    A    STONE    CARRIER 


A   STONE-MASON 

one  could  tell  which  direction  the  current  of 
destiny  might  take. 

Already  at  the  age  of  fourteen  I  had  become 
mysteriously  discontented  with  my  lot.  I  had 
begun  to  dream,  in  a  very  vague  way,  to  be  sure, 
of  better  things.  I  distinctly  remember  that 
the  thought  of  being  a  stone-mason  all  my  life 
oppressed  me  at  that  early  age.  "Am  I  to  be 
only  a  toiler  all  my  life.^"  was  a  question  which 
often  pressed  in  my  mind  for  an  answer.  Life 
under  such  conditions  seemed  to  me  to  possess 
no  permanent  significance.  My  restlessness 
greatly  disturbed  my  father.  To  him  it  was 
the  result  of  pride  and  vanity,  and  nothing 
else. 

It  was  about  this  time,  I  believe,  that  I  first 
heard  of  America.  The  news  of  that  remote  and 
strange  country  came  to  me  simply  as  a  bit  of 
indifferent  knowledge.  Some  Syrians  had  gone 
to  America  and  returned  with  much  money. 
Money  in  America  was  of  very  little  value.  But 
the  country  was  so  far  away,  so  difficult  of 
access,  that  those  who  reached  it  must  have 

[   113   ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

done  so  by  accident.  The  American  mission- 
aries were  known  to  us  as  English. 

But  at  the  age  of  fourteen  something  of  much 
greater  significance  came  into  my  Kfe.  I  made 
the  acquaintance  of  a  boy  of  about  my  age  who 
was  attending  an  American  boarding-school, 
about  ten  miles  away  from  our  town.  Iskander 
was  the  only  boy  of  our  town  who  had  ever 
been  sent  to  such  a  school,  and  was  therefore 
very  conspicuous  in  the  community  for  his 
dignity  and  "learning." 

How  I  became  acquainted  with  Iskander  and 
how  he  allowed  himself  to  become  the  most 
intimate  friend  of  such  a  boy  as  I  was,  I  cannot 
tell.  It  was  simply  destiny.  Iskander  was  a  fine 
penman.  He  knew  much  poetry,  arithmetic, 
geography,  and  English,  many  things  about  the 
Bible,  and  many  other  mysteries.  He  knew  a 
great  deal  about  America,  and  much  about 
other  countries.  When  he  came  home  for  his 
summer  vacation  of  three  months,  we  practi- 
cally lived  together.  Iskander  would  read  poe- 
try to  me  and  teach  me  words  in  the  classical 

[   114  ] 


A   STONE-MASON 

Arabic.  Our  conversations  covered  every  phase 
of  thought  in  which  he  was  interested,  and 
brought  me  treasures  of  knowledge.  Not  in- 
frequently we  would  stay  up  the  whole  night, 
engaged  in  such  conversations.  Here  certainly 
a  revolution  came  into  my  life.  I  loved  know- 
ledge and  craved  more  of  its  higher  pleasures. 
Of  a  truth,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  I  was  never  made 
to  be  an  ignorant  toiler.  I  was  an  idealist.  But 
such  a  life  as  that  of  my  friend  Iskander  seemed 
far  beyond  me.  I  never  could  hope  to  become 
so  learned  as  he,  and  never  had  the  remotest 
idea  of  going  to  school. 

My  father  was  glad  that  the  "learned" 
Iskander  was  my  friend,  but  he  had  no  patience 
with  "the  frills  of  poetry"  for  a  stone-mason. 
"There  is  no  bread  in  the  foolishness  of  poetry; 
tools,  tools  only  can  feed  our  hunger,"  was  one 
of  his  answers  to  my  pretentious  remarks.  My 
good  father  was  right,  inasmuch  as  he  knew 
only  of  one  hunger  to  feed.  At  the  age  of  six- 
teen I  became  decidedly  averse  to  working  at 
the  mason's  trade.    My  discontent  began  to 

[   115  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

beget  wickedness  in  my  mind.  In  the  absence 
of  my  friend  Iskander,  at  school,  I  fell  into  the 
company  of  certain  idlers  who  were  no  more  nor 
less  than  highway  robbers.  The  stories  of  their 
adventures  greatly  fascinated  me,  and  I  was 
in  great  danger  of  taking  the  wrong  course  in 
life.  My  parents  were  greatly  alarmed  at  this, 
and  strained  every  effort  to  ease  my  difficulties 
and  lead  me  in  the  way  in  which  I  should  go. 
But  the  pitiable  fact  was  that  neither  they  nor 
I  had  any  definite  object  in  view.  It  was  dis- 
content on  my  part  and  anxiety  on  their  part, 
and  little  or  nothing  else. 

One  day  one  of  the  wise  men  of  the  town, 
who  knew  of  our  predicament,  said  to  my 
father,  "Your  son  is  the  intimate  friend  of  the 
'schoolboy'  Iskander,  and  I  feel  certain  that  if 
you  offered  to  send  your  son  to  the  same  school 
which  his  friend  attends,  he  would  go.  Try  it.'' 
My  father  came  home,  and,  in  a  half-hearted 
manner,  made  the  suggestion,  and,  for  the 
moment,  we  all  laughed.  School?  Forme?  My 
mother,  who  was  somewhat  more  in  sympathy 
[   ii6  ] 


A  STONE-MASON 

with  my  aspirations,  spoke  more  seriously  of 
the  proposition,  and  I  became  interested  in  it. 
The  moment  was  of  supreme  importance.  It 
was  one  of  those  moments  in  which  there  is 
much  more  of  God  than  in  the  ordinary  particles 
\  of  time.  It  was  the  gateway  of  my  destiny,  and, 
most  unexpectedly  to  my  parents  as  to  myself, 
I  faced  my  father  and  said,  "  I  will  go  to  school." 
My  decision  brought  great  relief  to  the  whole 
family,  and  we  all  concluded  that  it  was  God's 
will.  But  when  some  of  our  fellow  Greek 
Orthodox  heard  of  it,  they  urged  my  father  to 
send  me  to  the  clerical  school  of  our  bishop  and 
have  me  fitted  for  the  priesthood,  instead  of 
sending  me  to  the  heretical  Protestant  school. 
That  suggestion,  of  course,  proved  much  more 
agreeable  to  my  parents.  A  representative  of 
the  bishop  resided  in  the  same  town,  Suk-el- 
Gharb,  in  which  the  American  school  was  situ- 
ated, and,  since  it  was  necessary  for  us  to  go  to 
Suk-el-Gharb  early  in  the  summer  and  make 
arrangements  for  my  entering  one  of  the  two 
schools,  my  father  decided  that  we  should  inter- 

[   117  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

view  the  representative  of  the  bishop ;  which  we 
did.  My  father  was  very  favorably  impressed 
by  what  he  told  us  about  the  school.  The 
"holiness  of  the  priestly  office"  and  the  spirit- 
ual security  and  certainty  of  salvation  which 
"the  Holy  Church  of  our  Fathers"  insured  to 
us  weighed  very  greatly  with  my  father,  but 
not  so  greatly  with  me.  My  friend  Iskander 
was  a  Protestant,  and  I  could  not  think  that 
he  would  be  damned  for  it.  Besides,  he  knew  a 
great  deal  more  than  our  parish  priest  did.  Of 
course,  I  had  no  thought  of  becoming  a  Pro- 
testant myself,  but  I  craved  more  learning  than 
the  clerical  school  of  our  bishop  could  give. 

Upon  leaving  the  representative  of  the  bishop, 
I  decided  that  I  would  not  go  to  the  clerical 
school.  Its  twenty  students  looked  to  me  "as 
tame  as  girls"  —  Syrian  girls.  We  proceeded 
to  the  home  of  the  American  missionary,  dis- 
cussed the  matter  with  him,  and,  finding  that 
I  would  be  accepted  as  a  student  if  I  came  in 
the  autumn,  I  decided  to  enter  the  American 
school. 

[   ii8   ] 


A  STONE-MASON 

When  it  became  known  in  Betater  that  I  was 
to  forsake  my  father's  trade  and  become  a 
"scholar,"  the  news  created  a  sensation  among 
all  classes.  It  was  the  "talk  of  the  town"  for 
several  days.  "Just  think  of  it!  Abraham, 
the  Master's  son,  is  going  to  school,  at  the 
advanced  age  of  seventeen!" 


CHAPTER  VI 

A   NEW   LIGHT 

It  was  in  October,  1886,  that  I  was  admitted 
to  the  American  boarding-school,  known  to  us 
as  the  High  School  of  Suk-el-Gharb,  a  village 
situated  on  one  of  a  lofty  chain  of  hills  over- 
looking the  Mediterranean  Sea,  about  nine 
miles  east  of  the  city  of  Beyrout. 

In  making  preparations  for  this  important 
step,  the  first  thing  on  the  programme  was  an 
order  to  the  carpenter  for  a  clothes-chest.  This 
was  a  proud  possession,  the  first  earthly  object 
besides  my  clothes  which  I  could  call  my  own. 
The  carpenter  covered  the  chest  with  cheap 
yellow  paint  which,  whenever,  however,  and 
wherever  I  touched  it,  came  off  on  my  hands 
and  clothes.  It  must  have  been  a  very  interest- 
ing spectacle  to  see  a  "green"  boy  painted 
yellow. 

As  for  myself,  instead  of  the  bloomer-like 
shirwal,  used  among  the  Lebanon ians,  I  put  on 
[   120  ] 


A  NEW  LIGHT 

the  more  genteel  ghimbaz  (a  gown  which  resem- 
bles a  kimono),  an  embroidered  vest,  a  silk 
sash,  white  stockings,  and  red  slippers,  thus 
giving  myself  quite  a  citified  appearance.  A 
muleteer,  who  cheered  my  way  with  quaint 
songs,  carried  me,  with  my  bed  and  clothes- 
chest,  to  the  coveted  institution  of  learning. 
Upon  my  arrival  I  was  assigned  three  pine 
boards  and  two  saw-horses  as  a  bedstead.  That 
was  the  first  elevating  influence  of  education 
that  I  felt.  But  by  force  of  habit  as  well  as 
gravitation  I  found  myself  twice  on  the  floor  in 
my  first  night  in  that  American  school. 

When  the  supper-bell  rang  that  evening,  the 
pupils  filed  into  the  dining-room,  where  seats 
were  assigned  to  the  newcomers.  All  remained 
standing  until  the  senior  teacher  came  in  and 
said  grace.  That  pious  act  was  startling  to  me. 
I  had  seen  my  teacher,  a  layman,  offer  prayer 
at  the  opening  of  every  school-day  in  my  child- 
hood, and  I  greatly  enjoyed  the  little  service ; 
but  that  a  layman  should  "bless  the  food''  was 
altogether  at  variance  with  my  religious  antece- 

[    121    ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

dents.  Only  the  priest  had  the  authority  to 
lift  his  consecrated  hand  and  bestow  a  blessing 
on  such  an  occasion.  Where  did  the  teacher  get 
his  authority  to  perform  such  a  solemn  act? 
With  such  a  question  in  mind,  I  could  not  be 
reverent  during  the  prayer.  I  did  not  bow  my 
head  or  close  my  eyes ;  I  looked  at  the  pra3ang 
teacher  with  much  curiosity  as  I  explained  to 
myself  that  the  entire  performance  v^as  a  pecu- 
liarity of  Protestantism  with  which  I  was  not 
at  all  concerned.  I  had  come  to  the  school  to 
get  knowledge,  and  nothing  else. 

It  was  at  that  supper  that  for  the  first  time 
in  my  life  I  occupied  an  elevated  seat  at  the 
table.  With  the  exception  of  a  small  European- 
ized  minority  of  them,  the  Syrians  sit  on  the 
floor  while  eating,  and  serve  the  food  on  low 
tables  or  large  trays.  But  at  the  Suk-el-Gharb 
school  long  benches  were  provided  for  us  to  sit 
on,  and  as  those  *' modem  conveniences"  were 
very  hard  and  had  no  support  for  the  back, 
they  did  not  make  a  compelling  appeal  to  me 
to  forget  the  more  restful  custom  of  my  fathers. 

[    122    ] 


A  NEW  LIGHT 

The  gospel  of  "plain  living  and  high  thinking," 
which  the  Western  world  is  just  beginning  to 
discover,  was  well  known  to  our  school.  Our 
supper  on  that  evening,  which  was  a  variant  of 
a  well-established  routine,  consisted  of  boiled 
potatoes,  with  the  peelings  on,  ripe  black  olives, 
bread  and  salt.  With  the  Orientals  in  general, 
dessert  does  not  rise  to  the  dignity  of  a  course 
in  the  plan  of  the  regular  meals ;  it  is  as  irregular 
in  its  appearance  at  the  table  as  a  comet  is  in 
the  firmament.  At  long  and  irregular  intervals 
we  were  favored  with  a  dish  of  sweets,  with  the 
evident  intention  on  the  part  of  the  school 
authorities  that  we  would  appreciate  the  favor. 
We  always  did.  But  while  our  food  was  plain 
it  w^as  sufficient  to  keep  us  in  good  health  and 
humor,  and  only  now  and  then  some  of  us  big 
boys  felt  compelled  to  bribe  the  cook  to  meet 
us  at  the  back  kitchen  window  with  additional 
and  unauthorized  rations. 

Next  morning  lessons  began.   Owing  to  the 
fact  that  my  schooling  had  been  so  sadly  inter- 
rupted when  I  was  put  to  work  at  the  age  of 
[   123   ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

nine,  I  was  assigned  to  a  class  of  "beginners." 
They  were  much  younger  boys  than  I,  and 
among  them  I  appeared  Jike  a  giant  among 
pygmies.  I  was  tall,  rough,  and  awkward,  with 
a  vague  hunger  for  knowledge.  Under  the  cir- 
cumstances, it  was  a  great  consolation  that  my 
dear  friend,  Iskander,  who  had  just  been  ele- 
vated to  the  position  of  instructor,  was  to  be 
my  teacher. 

All  studies,  up  to  the  senior  year,  were  given 
in  Arabic.  English  was  taught  as  a  language. 
It  interested  me  at  once.  I  looked  upon  the 
English  Primer  as  the  gateway  to  untold  mys- 
teries, and  when  I  was  able  to  say,  "Run, 
mouse,  run.  The  cat  will  catch  you,"  I  felt  that 
I  had  entered  into  the  exalted  circle  of  the 
learned. 

But  the  study  which  assumed  supremacy  in 
my  mind  above  all  others  during  my  first  year 
in  school  was  that  of  the  Bible.  I  shall  never 
forget  the  thrilling  charm  of  my  first  Sunday- 
School  lesson.  Our  topic  was  the  story  of  Eli- 
jah's ascension  into  heaven  in  a  chariot  of  fire. 
[  124  ] 


A   NEW   LIGHT 

As  a  Syrian  boy  I  had  not  the  slightest  diffi- 
culty in  beUeving  in  miracles.  In  the  minds  of 
my  people  the  miraculous  element  stands  as 
the  very  foundation  of  religion.  Our  Bible  was 
full  of  miracles.  Our  saints,  even  our  priests, 
worked  miracles.  Miracles  grew  under  our  eyes. 
But,  to  me,  the  wonder  of  wonders  was  the  fact 
that  the  Bible,  the  great  and  holy  book  of  our 
religion,  the  Bible  of  which,  as  a  Greek  Ortho- 
dox, I  had  heard  so  much  but  which  I  had  seen 
so  seldom  in  the  hands  of  the  laity,  was  now 
free  and  open,  even  to  me,  not  only  to  read,  but 
to  study,  and  to  have  explained  to  me,  verse 
by  verse,  by  "learned  men"! 

Every  school-day,  for  all  the  scholars,  the 
first  lesson  was  the  Bible.  It  was  the  Bible, 
however,  not  under  the  microscope  of  the 
"higher  critics,"  but  the  Bible  just  as  it  reads. 
The  pupils  read  the  lesson  in  turn,  each  reading 
one  or  two  verses,  and  the  teacher  explained  the 
text,  as  a  profound  and  uncorrupted  super- 
naturalist  must  explain  it. 

The  ethical  distinctions,  also,  which  beset  the 

[   125  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

more  highly  cultivated  minds  in  these  days  with 
regard  to  certain  portions  of  the  Bible,  were 
unknown  even  to  our  teachers.  We  read  the 
scriptural  stories  just  as  they  were.  They  had 
grown  and  been  recorded  in  our  country.  They 
were  the  very  precipitate  of  the  moral  and 
intellectual  atmosphere  of  our  people  put  forth 
in  the  current  idioms  of  the  land  of  our  heritage, 
and  all  bound  together  by  a  divine  purpose. 
Therefore,  "What  God  hath  joined  together, 
let  no  man  put  asunder.'' 

The  great  mystery  of  the  Holy  of  Holies,  as 
it  was  interpreted  by  our  teacher,  made  a  pro- 
found impression  upon  me.  The  Holy  of  Holies 
symbolized  the  unapproachable  Divine  Pres- 
ence. "The  holy  place,"  where  the  priests 
ministered  to  waiting  Israel,  represented  the 
world  and  humanity  seeking  the  light.  The 
"veil  of  blue,  and  purple,  and  scarlet,  and  fine 
twined  linen,"  which  hung  between  the  Holy  of 
Holies  and  the  holy  place,  symbolized  the  bar- 
rier which  was  established  between  God  and 
mankind  when  Adam  fell,  and  which  could  be 
[   126  ] 


A   NEW  LIGHT 

removed  only  when  the  promise  of  a  Saviour 
was  fulfilled.  When  Jesus  was  crucified  on 
Calvary,  and  thus  "paid  the  price  of  sin/'  "the 
veil  of  the  temple  was  rent  in  twain,  from  the 
top  to  the  bottom,''  signifying  the  removal  of 
the  barrier  of  original  sin  and  the  opening  of 
the  way  of  salvation  to  all  those  who  come  to 
the  Father  through  the  Son. 

To  me,  that  was  Christian  theology  in  a  nut- 
shell. Other  explanations  of  the  Bible  were  in- 
deed precious,  but  the  lesson  of  the  Holy  of 
Holies,  a  concentrated  world  of  religious  know- 
ledge, was  my  chief  treasure. 

When  I  returned  home  for  the  Christmas 
vacation,  I  was  expected  to  give  a  creditable 
account  of  myself  as  a  student.  All  my  other 
acquirements  seemed  to  me  too  insignificant  to 
be  compared  with  my  Biblical  knowledge,  of 
which,  however,  my  only  significant  possessions 
were  the  interpretation  of  the  Holy  of  Holies 
and  the  story  of  the  ascension  of  Elijah.  So, 
when  a  goodly  company  of  friends  and  relatives 
came  in  to  greet  me,  on  the  evening  of  my 

[   127  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

arrival,  and  asked  me  to  **tell  what  I  had 
learned,"  the  story  of  the  Holy  of  Holies  leaped 
spontaneously  forth  from  *my  mind.  Upon  my 
auditors  it  had  a  telling  effect.  It  was  amazing 
to  them  *'what  schools  could  do."  One  of  my 
cousins  was  so  carried  away  by  my  portrayal 
of  the  divine  mysteries,  that,  throwing  up  his 
hands  in  the  air,  in  Oriental  fashion,  he  ex- 
claimed, "My  cousin,  by  the  life  of  God,  go  no 
deeper  into  learning.  I  fear  you  might  lose  your 
mind!" 

The  Protestant  doctrine  of  the  Bible  and  the 
Church  was  also  very  interesting  to  me,  but 
somewhat  disquieting.  It  threatened  my  an- 
cient orthodox  faith  in  the  authority  of  the 
Church  and  the  mediatorial  offices  of  the  saints. 
I  was  taught  that  the  Bible,  and  the  Bible  only, 
was  of  divine  authority ;  that  church  ordinances 
were  man-made,  therefore  faulty.  Prayer  to 
the  saints,  I  was  told,  was  "a  worship  of  the 
creature  in  place  of  the  Creator";  the  Church 
was  the  company  of  all  believers,  and  not  sim- 
ply a  body  of  priests ;  fasting  and  other  legalistic 
[   128  ] 


A  NEW  LIGHT 

practices  were  vain  efforts  on  the  part  of  man 
to  save  himself  by  his  own  endeavor,  instead  of 
seeking  salvation  by  faith  in  the  atoning  merits 
of  Christ.  I  felt  especially  predisposed  to  set 
my  face  against  Protestantism  when  it  taught 
me  to  give  up  adoring  the  Virgin  Mary,  the 
"Mother  of  God." 

The  doctrine  of  predestination,  which  the 
Protestant  world  is  now  in  grave  danger  of 
forgetting,  greatly  puzzled  my  youthful  mind. 
Our  senior  teacher  was  very  fond  of  expounding 
this  doctrine,  probably  because  its  mystery 
afforded  much  scope  for  speculation.  The 
favorite  text  with  which  the  argument  in  favor  of 
predestination  was  most  often  clinched  was 
Romans  ix,  1 5-16,  "  I  will  have  mercy  on  whom 
I  will  have  mercy,  and  I  will  have  compassion 
on  whom  I  will  have  compassion.  So  then  it  is 
not  of  him  that  willeth,  nor  of  him  that  runneth, 
but  of  God  that  showeth  mercy."  And  oh,  how 
I  pondered  these  words  and  how  I  struggled  to 
discern  the  purpose  of  the  Eternal  in  them.  Was 
I  elected  ?  If  so,  then  why  should  I  strive  to  win 
[   129  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

God's  favor,  when  I  already  have  it?  But  if  not 
elected,  why  then  make  the  utterly  vain  effort 
to  change  the  eternal  decree  of  the  Almighty  ? 
Though  only  a  boy,  I  could  not  help  thinking 
that  if  my  salvation  or  damnation  had  been  de- 
creed unalterably  before  the  world  was  made, 
my  life  upon  the  earth  could  have  no  significance 
whatever.  But  consolation  always  came  from 
my  suspicion  that  there  must  be  some  hidden, 
more  generous  meaning  in  the  text  which  I  had 
failed  to  discover.  Notwithstanding  all  these 
diflficulties,  however,  the  inscrutable  doctrine  of 
predestination  proved  of  use  to  us  students  in 
that  when  one  of  our  number  did  that  which  in 
the  judgment  of  the  rest  he  ought  not  to  have 
done,  he  was  stigmatized  "a  non-elected  soul." 
My  education  was  not  confined  to  the  Bible 
and  Protestant  doctrines.  I  was  instructed  in 
arithmetic,  in  English,  in  reading  the  classical 
Arabic,  in  grammar,  geography,  and  writing. 
My  more  mature  faculties  led  me  scon  out  of 
the  beginners'  class  to  higher  grades,  and  in  the 
latter  part  of  the  year  I  was  allowed  to  attend 

[   130  ] 


A  NEW  LIGHT 

the  class  of  "essayists,"  whose  essays  were 
heard  and  criticized  by  the  senior  teacher  every 
Saturday  morning. 

The  most  startHng  experience  of  my  first 
year  in  school  was  my  "preaching"  at  the 
meeting  of  the  recently  organized  Christian 
Endeavor  Society,  which  comprised  the  entire 
student  body  and  all  the  teachers.  Toward  the 
end  of  the  year,  the  invitation  to  exercise  this 
office  came  to  me  as  a  great  honor,  but  it  was  a 
crushing  one.  At  the  appointed  time  one  of  the 
teachers  led  the  devotional  exercises,  and  then 
quietly  introduced  me  as  the  preacher  of  the 
evening.  It  was  the  first  time  in  my  life  that  I 
had  ever  faced  an  audience.  My  "sermon," 
which  occupied  four  foolscap  pages,  had  taken 
me  so  long  to  write  that  I  thought  it  would 
take  as  long  to  read.  I  was  disposed,  therefore, 
to  read  it  from  the  pulpit  with  rapidity.  What 
the  sermon  was  about  I  have  not  the  slightest 
recollection,  and  the  manuscript  is  lost.  What 
I  do  remember  of  that  occasion  is  a  curious 
psychological  experience. 

[  131  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

As  I  looked  down  from  the  platform  I  seemed 
to  be  peering  through  a  powerful  magnifying- 
glass.  The  heads  of  my  auditors  assumed  enor- 
mous proportions;  their  eyes  glared  at  me  like 
those  of  an  angry  bull,  and  really  frightened 
me.  Nothing  whatever  seemed  normal.  It  was 
my  subconscious  self  that  read  the  little  sermon, 
and  I  "came  to"  in  my  seat  in  the  audience, 
mopping  my  face  violently.  Unconscious  of  all 
that  was  going  on  around  me,  I  turned  to  one 
of  the  boys  and  asked,  "What  happened?" 
"You  preached,"  was  his  hasty  answer,  "for 
about  two  minutes." 

When  I  went  home  for  my  summer  vacation, 
I  was  received  by  my  family  and  friends,  not 
only  affectionately  but  with  that  regard  which 
is  accorded  seekers  after  knowledge  among  all 
peoples.  The  fact  that  my  attainments  were 
as  yet  very  meager  counted  for  naught  with  my 
people.  I  was  in  the  path  of  wisdom,  and  that 
was  enough.  But  such  honors  brought  with 
them  great  responsibilities.  I  was  supposed 
to  be  able  to  give  an  enlightened  opinion  on 
[   132  ] 


A  NEW  LIGHT 

every  subject  under  the  sun,  from  a  problem  in 
subtraction  to  medical  questions  and  the  poli- 
cies of  the  European  nations.  Letter-writing 
for  others  was  probably  the  most  unwelcome 
distinction  my  "scholarship"  brought  me.  At 
that  time  those  of  the  people  of  our  town  who 
could  read  and  write  were  numerous,  but  my 
friend  Iskander  and  I  were  the  only  "school- 
men" who  could  yunshi  (do  original  work  in 
letter-writing).  The  calls  on  me  to  perform 
such  a  duty  were  not  very  frequent,  because 
letter-writing  has  never  been  nearly  so  common 
in  the  East  as  in  the  West.  The  difficulty  of  the 
task  lay  in  the  fact  that  I  was  supposed  to 
divine  the  thoughts  of  the  sender  of  the  mes- 
sage, as  well  as  to  express  them  in  just  the 
phrases  he  or  she  would  like.  For  example, 
Yusufs  wife  would  come  to  me  with  a  few 
of  her  relatives  and  neighbors,  and  beg  me  to 
write  a  letter  for  her  to  her  husband.  Yusuf 
had  been  away  from  home  for  a  long  time ;  he 
had  sent  no  money  to  his  wife  nor  information 
as  to  when  he  was  coming  home.  The  family 

[   133   ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

had  been  living  on  credit  all  this  time,  but 
could  secure  credit  no  longer.  The  Easter  sea- 
son was  fast  approaching,  and  the  children 
were  in  dire  need  of  a  few  holiday  garments,  if 
for  no  other  purpose  than  to  prevent  the  sus- 
picion on  the  part  of  others  that  the  little  ones 
were  destitute.  Of  these  and  other  matters 
YusuPs  w  ife  would  like  to  have  me  write  to  her 
husband,  but  her  pride  does  not  allow  her  to 
tell  me  all  that  in  plain  terms;  I  am  supposed 
to  be  enough  of  a  genius  to  know  her  circum- 
stances. 

I  sit  down  on  the  floor,  fold  my  legs,  placing 
the  right  one  over  the  left,  rest  my  left  hand, 
in  which  I  hold  the  sheet  of  paper  folded  once 
just  below  the  line  where  the  letter  should 
begin,  on  my  elevated  right  knee,  dip  my  reed 
pen  in  the  brass  inkstand,  and  proceed  to  write, 
from  right  to  left.  Yusufs  wife  and  her  friends 
sit  around  me  and,  with  evident  admiration, 
watch  my  dexterity.  I  write  the  "preface'* 
addressing  the  absent  Yusuf  as  "our  father-in- 
law's  son,"  which  is  a  more  modest  form  of 

[   134  ] 


A  NEW  LIGHT 

saying  "our^  husband."  I  convey  to  him  all 
*' becoming  respect'*;  ask  the  Almighty  Father 
to  compass  him  with  his  grace,  to  grant  him 
heahh  and  strength  and  bring  him  back  to  his 
family  laden  with  the  fruits  of  his  labors;  tell 
him  that,  if  he  condescended  to  ask  about  his 
family,  all  of  them  are  at  this  date  in  happy 
good  health,  the  children's  faces  are  like  the 
full  moon,  they  lack  only  the  privilege  of  seeing 
his  face  and  kissing  his  hand  again;  and  so 
forth,  and  so  forth. 

**Now,  Yusufs  wife,  what  more  shall  I 
write?"  I  ask. 

With  her  palms  open  toward  the  sky  and  her 
perplexed  eyes  moving  rather  swiftly  between 
my  face  and  the  ground,  she  says,  — 

**  Well,  tell  him — tell  him  —  well,  you  know, 
—  God's  blessing  come  into  your  heart,  you 
know,  —  as  you  might  say ;  what  is  all  your 
learning  for.^" 

^  What  must  seem  rather  strange  to  Americans  is 
the  Syrian  custom  of  saying,  as  a  mark  of  humility, 
"we,"  when  "I"  is  meant. 

[   135   ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

"But,"  I  speak  again,  "I  don't  know  ex- 
actly what  you  wish  to  write  to  your  husband, 
for  I  am  not  your  confessor." 

Here  one  of  the  neighbors  claims  attention 
and  says,  — 

"Tell  him  that  his  wife  needs  money,  and 
that  Abu-Tanus,  her  chief  creditor,  is  making 
her  life  miserable ;  he  wants  his  money ;  tell  him 
that,  my  soul,  tell  him  just  that,  and  a  little 
more." 

Another  neighbor,  "No!  don't  write  such  a 
thing  to  him;  these  people  [pointing  to  the 
others  present]  don't  know  anything;  Yusuf 
knows  that  his  wife  needs  money  and  that 
Easter  is  approaching,  and — " 

Another  neighbor,  "Don't  howl  so;  if  he 
knows  all  that  why  does  n't  he  send  money  to 
his  needy  wife?  You  seem  to  talk  like  an  ox. 
Now  [turning  to  me],  you,  my  eyes  [an  endear- 
ing term],  write,  write  and  spare  not." 

The  contentions  of  the  many  friends  of  the 
needy  family  bring  out  the  exact  circumstances, 
and  I  proceed  to  finish  the  letter  without  fur- 

[   136  ] 


A   NEW  LIGHT 

ther  assistance.  The  message  completed,  I 
throw  some  dust  or  sand  over  the  page  to  "dry 
the  ink,"  fold  the  paper,  take  a  tiny  bit  of 
bread,  wet  it  in  my  mouth,  seal  the  missive 
with  it,  and  hand  it  to  Yusuf  s  wife,  who  carries 
it  to  the  muleteer  who  is  to  start  the  next  morn- 
ing on  his  journey  to  the  region  where  her  hus- 
band is,  "before  the  rising  of  the  morning 
star." 

It  was  a  source  of  gratification  to  my  parents, 
and  to  the  pious  among  our  neighbors,  that, 
notwithstanding  the  fact  that  I  had  spent  a 
year  in  a  Protestant  school,  I  had  not  departed 
from  my  Mother  Church.  During  that  summer 
our  little  parish  had  the  rare  privilege  of  a  visit 
from  the  great  Patriarch  of  Antioch,  who  was 
then  on  a  pastoral  tour  through  his  ancient  see. 
Aside  from  the  stupendous  prestige  of  his  official 
position,  he  was  a  personal  friend  of  the  Sultan, 
and  so,  wherever  he  went,  the  governors  of  the 
provinces  were  little  m.ore  than  his  servants. 
The  entire  population  of  our  town  and  the 
neighboring  villages  went  out  to  m^eet  him,  ^ 

[   137  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

The  men  of  our  church  formed  themselves  into 
an  armed  escort,  firing  salutes  all  the  way  and 
enveloping  the  entire  procession,  Patriarch  and 
all,  in  clouds  of  smoke  and  dust.  I  was  equipped 
for  the  occasion  with  a  pair  of  flintlock  pistols 
and  a  more  modem  double-barreled  shotgun, 
and  my  place  in  the  procession  was  close  to  the 
white  horse  of  His  Eminence. 

At  such  times  as  this  I  felt  myself  to  be  as 
yet  a  true  Greek  Orthodox,  but  when  I  re- 
turned to  the  ordinary  routine  of  worship  in 
our  village  church,  I  discovered  that  the  Pro- 
testant virus  had  gone  deeper  into  my  blood 
than  I  had  been  aware  of,  or  desired.  My  soul 
was  rent  in  twain.  Sentimentally,  I  was  still 
Greek  Orthodox;  intellectually,  I  had  leaned 
perceptibly  toward  Protestantism.  The  pic- 
tures of  the  saints  on  the  walls  of  our  church 
seemed  to  me  less  rich  in  spiritual  mystery  than 
they  did  before  I  went  to  school.  Saint-worship 
and  many  church  ceremonials  appeared  beset 
with  question-marks.  They  had  no  warrant  in 
the  Bible,  and  my  inquiring  mind  chafed  under 

[   138  ] 


A  NEW  LIGHT 

their  claims.  Such  issues  were  perpetually  in 
my  mind,  and  I  was  incHned  to  argue  them  with 
my  parents  or  even  with  the  priest.  The  priest, 
however,  who  was  very  ignorant  and  quick- 
tempered, had  very  Uttle  to  say  excepting  to 
rebuke  me  for  emulating  the  methods  of  "those 
accursed  Protestants  who  know  nothing  else 
but  to  argue." 

With  all  our  differences,  however,  I  managed 
to  retain  my  respect  for  the  priest  until  he  led 
me,  by  his  own  arrogance,  to  think  and  act 
differently.  After  my  return  from  school,  I  no 
longer  observed  fast-days  and  days  of  absten- 
tion from  meat.  One  evening,  as  ill-luck  had  it, 
the  priest  called  at  our  house  and  found  me 
eating  meat  on  a  forbidden  day.  He  was  violent 
with  rage.  "What  are  you  eating,  you  accursed 
of  God?''  he  said.  "You  are  neither  sick  nor 
feeble.  Why  do  you  sin  in  this  manner .? "  Shak- 
ing with  anger,  he  advanced  toward  me  and 
lifted  his  foot  to  kick  the  table  from  before  me. 

In  an  instant  I  was  on  my  feet,  deeply  in- 
sulted and  greatly  angered.  I  told  him  to  leave 

[   139   ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

the  house  instantly,  else  I  should  drive  him  out 
with  a  stick. 

My  parents  were  inexpressibly  shocked. 
While  they  regretted  his  indiscretion,  they  were 
horrified  at  my  conduct  toward  **the  priest  of 
my  people." 

**My  son,  my  son,"  exclaimed  my  mother, 
after  our  visitor  had  gone,  "  the  priest  may  be  a 
bad  man ;  still  he  possesses  the  mystery  of  the 
priesthood." 

"The  mystery  of  the  priesthood!"  cried  I. 
"Cursed  be  he  and  his  mystery!  A  bad  man 
cannot  make  a  good  priest.  Mother,  I  am  a 
Protestant  upon  the  housetop."  ^ 

My  second  year  at  school  found  me  very 
happy  and  successful  in  my  studies,  but  my 
lessons  did  not  compare  in  significance  with  the 
general,  indefinable  influence  which  my  school 
associations  exerted  over  me.  I  seemed  to 
awaken  and  absorb  revolutionary  religious  and 
social   forces.    My   individual   life   began   to 

1  A  common  Syrian  expression  for  avowedly  or 
completely. 

[    140    1 


m 


■Jn-'i 


A  NEW  LIGHT 

acquire  both  retrospect  and  prospect.  I  began 
to  feel  intelligently  the  impact  of  the  past  and 
to  have  visions  of  the  more  significant  future. 
My  teachers  spoke  encouragingly  to  me  of  my 
swift  progress  —  "a  youth  who  had  but  very 
recently  forsaken  the  barren  life  of  the  stone- 
mason and  taken  up  the  duties  of  the  student." 
^  It  was  during  the  autumn  of  this  year  that 
I  joined  the  Protestant  Church.  (Happily  we 
knew  no  denominational  designations  in  that 
school,  which,  how^ever,  was  of  the  Presbyterian 
persuasion.)  The  American  missionary,  the 
Reverend  Theodore  Pond,  who  was  the  princi- 
pal, examined  me  and  received  me  into  church 
fellowship.  This  step  I  took  upon  my  own 
responsibility.  I  knew  my  parents  would  not 
favor  it,  so  I  did  not  ask  them.  Protestantism 
seemed  to  me  more  reasonable  than  my  old  form 
of  faith.  It  did  away  with  many  church  ordi- 
nances which  had  often  bewildered  my  growing 
mind,  and  it  afforded  me  a  closer  communion 
with  Christ,  who  was  the  only  Saviour  of  the 
world.  Above  all  things,  Protestantism  opened 

[  141   ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

and  explained  the  Bible  to  me,  and  laid  much 
emphasis  on  religion  as  life.  When  I  was  being 
examined  by  Mr.  Pond,  he  asked  me  what  my 
parents  would  think  of  the  step  I  contemplated 
taking. 

"They  would  oppose  it/'  I  answered. 

** Would  you  disobey  your  parents?"  he 
asked. 

"In  this  case  I  would,"  said  I.  "The  Master 
has  said,  *He  that  loveth  father  or  mother 
more  than  me,  is  not  worthy  of  me.'  Therefore 
Christ  stands  above  earthly  parents." 

Mr.  Pond  was  pleasantly  surprised  at  the 
quick  but  authoritative  answer,  and  expressed 
the  hope  that  my  parents  might,  in  the  not  far 
future,  see  the  wisdom  of  my  course. 

My  friend  Iskander  and  I  were  the  only 
Protestants  in  Betater,  and  while  we  were  not 
persecuted  in  a  mediaeval  sense,  we  had  to  fight 
many  battles  in  defense  of  our  faith.  When  we 
came  in  collision  with  intelligence,  we  were  no 
mean  fighters,  but  in  the  face  of  benighted 
bigotry  we  were  often  helpless.  At  such  gather- 

[   142  ] 


A   NEW  LIGHT 

ings  as  weddings  and  funerals  we  suffered  not  a 
little.  We  were  referred  to  sneeringly  as  "the 
Lutherans,  the  followers  of  the  lustful  monk 
who  ran  away  from  the  Church  in  order  to  get 
married."  We  were  urged  to  admit  the  truth 
of  the  assertions  that  the  Protestants  who 
refused  to  confess  their  sins  to  the  priest  went 
up  and  confessed  to  the  stone-roller  on  the 
housetop.  Many  of  our  leaders,  so  they  said, 
held  communion  with  Satan.  Our  marriage 
service,  being  performed  by  a  "lay-preacher,"^ 
was  invalid.  Therefore,  Protestant  children 
were  bastards,  and  so  forth.  Of  intelligent 
criticism  we  seldom  heard  a  word.  Therefore, 
the  reviling  of  our  theological  enemies  only 
strengthened  our  hold  on  our  new  belief.  Our 
own  families  accepted  our  defection  from  the 
faith  as  one  would  the  inevitable,  and  parental 
and  filial  love  kept  us  generally  at  peace. 
(While  I  was  at  school,  I  heard  much  about 

^  The  ordination  of  a  Protestant  minister  does  not, 
according  to  the  Greek  and  Catholic  churches,  invest 
him  with  the  authority  of  apostoHc  succession. 

[  143  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

America.  I  studied  its  geography,  heard  of  its 
great  Hberator,  Washington,  and  almost  every 
Sunday  listened  to  Mr.  Pond  and  other  preach- 
ers speak  of  the  zeal  of  its  people  for  missionary 
work  among  the  heathen  of  the  earth.  What 
has  seemed  very  curious  to  me,  in  the  light  of 
subsequent  knowledge,  is  the  fact  that  America 
was  always  presented  to  my  mind  as  a  sort  of 
hermit  nation.  Its  people  were  rich  and  reli- 
gious and  little  else.  Every  one  of  its  citizens 
told  the  truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth,  went 
to  church  every  single  Sunday,  and  lived  the  life 
of  non-resistance.  America  had  neither  fleets 
nor  armies  and  looked  to  England  for  the  pro- 
tection of  American  citizens  in  foreign  lands. 
I  do  not  remember  that  the  missionaries  spoke 
of  America  in  exactly  such  terms,  but  by  draw- 
ing their  illustrations  always  from  the  religious 
side  of  American  life,  they  led  many  of  us  to 
form  such  views  of  the  New  World. 

But  more  exciting  tales  about  America  came 
to  me  through  returning  Syrian  emigrants. 
Most  of  them,  being  common  laborers,  knev/, 

[   144  ] 


A   NEW  LIGHT 

of  course,  very  little  of  the  real  life  of  America. 
They  spoke  only  of  its  wealth  and  how  accessi- 
ble it  was,  and  told  how  they  themselves  secured 
more  money  in  America  in  a  very  few  years 
than  could  be  earned  in  Syria  in  two  genera- 
tions. More  enlightened  accounts  of  the  great 
country  beyond  the  seas  came  into  Syria 
through  a  small  minority  of  a  better  class  of 
emigrants.  From  such  descriptions  I  had  a  few 
glimpses  of  American  civilization,  of  a  land  of 
free  schools,  free  churches,  and  a  multitude  of 
other  organizations  which  worked  for  human 
betterment.  The  fact  that  a  few  poor  Syrian 
emigrants  who  had  gone  to  America  had  in  a 
few  years  attained  not  only  wealth  but  learning 
and  high  social  positions  —  had  become  real 
khawajas  —  appealed  very  strongly  to  my 
imagination.  I  would  go  to  America  if  some 
turn  of  fortune  made  that  possible. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  SCHOOL  TEACHER  AND  THE  EMIGRANT 

At  the  end  of  my  second  year  as  a  student  my 
father  told  me  that  he  was  no  longer  able  to 
keep  me  in  school.  He  was  getting  old  fast ;  his 
building  enterprises  grew  smaller  every  year, 
and  of  his  twelve  children  six  still  remained  at 
home  to  care  for.  He  had  already  paid  twelve 
Turkish  pounds  for  my  two  years'  keep  in 
school.  Adding  to  that  the  loss  of  my  wages  for 
two  years,  his  financial  burden  was  no  light  one. 
Disappointment  fell  upon  me  with  the  weight 
of  a  calamity.  I  could  not  blame  my  father,  so 
I  was  the  more  helpless  in  dealing  with  the 
stubborn  difficulty.  What  was  to  become  of 
me?  Was  I  to  be  forced  back  to  the  circum- 
stances against  which  I  had  rebelled  so  success- 
fully two  years  before?  Were  all  my  hopes  to 
be  dashed? 

During  that  summer  and  autumn  my  father 
met  with  serious  business  reverses,  and  we  were 

1 146  ] 


SCHOOL  TEACHER  AND  EMIGRANT 

actually  reduced  to  want.  The  approach  of  the 
winter,  always  dreaded  by  the  common  people 
of  Syria,  was  doubly  dreaded  by  our  family. 
I  had  never  known  what  real  want  was  before, 
and  now,  after  I  had  been  flattered  lavishly  by 
my  teachers  and  fellow  students  as  "one  of  the 
very  promising  young  men,"  to  behold  our 
family  in  the  grip  of  real  poverty  and  to  think 
of  myself  as  the  helpless  victim  of  such  circum- 
stances, was  almost  unbearable. 

Early  in  November  I  made  a  visit  to  my 
beloved  school  in  Suk-el-Gharb  and  called  on 
Mr.  Pond.  He  asked  me  interestedly  about  my 
plans  and  listened  with  sympathy  to  my  story. 
I  told  him  that  my  chief  desire  was  to  return 
to  the  school  as  a  student,  but  that  my  father's 
circumstances  rendered  this  impossible.  It  was 
beyond  Mr.  Pond's  powder  to  extend  me  finan- 
cial assistance,  but  he  offered  me  the  position 
of  a  teacher  in  the  primary  or  day  school,  which 
joined  the  High  School,  suggesting  that  in  that 
position  I  could  avail  myself  of  many  of  the 
privileges  which  the  High  School  offered.    I 

[  147  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

promptly  accepted,  and  in  a  few  days  assumed 
my  new  duties  with  great  enthusiasm. 

The  salary  of  my  new  position  was  three 
quarters  of  a  Turkish  pound  (about  three  dol- 
lars) per  month  and  my  board,  which  was  pro- 
vided at  the  High  School.  My  bed  stood  in  my 
schoolroom,  among  the  benches  of  my  pupils, 
and  served  as  a  comfortable  seat  for  me  during 
recitations.  I  do  not  remember  that  I  ever 
received  my  salary  at  the  end  of  the  month 
without  a  sense  of  insult.  Mr.  Pond  lived  in  a 
beautiful  residence.  He  had  a  carriage,  a  saddle 
horse,  and  three  servants.  Why  was  it  that  I 
should  accept  a  position  whose  salary  did  not 
enable  me  to  preserve  my  self-respect?  Yet  I 
had  accepted  it  of  my  own  free  will,  and  I  only 
was  to  blame  for  the  choice. 
<  My  career  as  a  school-teacher  covered  three 
years  —  two  in  Suk-el-Gharb  and  one  in  the 
city  of  Zahlah,  which  is  situated  on  the  eastern 
slopes  of  Mount  Lebanon,  on  the  main  road  to 
Damascus.  At  that  time  Zahlah  claimed  a 
population  of  about  twenty  thousand  souls, 
[   148  ] 


SCHOOL  TEACHER  AND  EMIGRANT 

and  enjoyed  a  commanding  commercial  posi- 
tion. The  city  was  rich,  and  its  population  con- 
tained not  a  few  college  men,  my  associations 
with  whom  proved  very  profitable.  It  was  in 
Zahlah  that  I  first  came  in  touch  with  the  mys- 
tery of  photography.  To  me  the  process  was 
a  grand  revelation,  and  I  felt  greatly  exalted 
when  I  put  on  my  worsted  shirwal,  Kashmir 
vest  and  sash,  held  a  book  in  my  hand,  and  sat 
for  my  picture. 

My  advent  as  a  teacher  in  a  city  school, 
while  I  was  yet  more  of  a  stone-mason  than  a 
schoolmaster,  must  seem  to  any  American 
"  School  Board  "  to  have  been  rather  a  strange 
phenomenon.  However,  it  was  not  so  strange 
as  it  might  seem.  In  those  days  and  in  that 
country  we  had  no  "system"  of  education,  no 
** teachers'  convention,''  no  "parents'  commit- 
tee," and  no  one  thousand-and-one  pedagogical 
devices.  Nor  did  we  have  a  public  opinion  to 
back  up  the  nobler  idea  (if  such  an  idea  did 
exist)  that  the  method  of  teaching  should  be 
such  as  to  develop  and  maintain  m.utual  sym- 

[   149  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

pathy  and  mutual  respect  between  teacher  and 
pupil.  Each  teacher  was  his  own  Froebel,  with 
Froebel's  methods  left  ouf.  The  American  mis- 
sionary would  map  out  a  very  elastic  plan  for 
a  school,  and  leave  the  teacher  master  of  the 
situation.  Women  teachers  were  as  rare  as 
women  preachers  are  in  England,  and  the  men 
found  tender  patience  in  teaching  school  to  be 
extremely  slow  of  results.  My  own  method  of 
teaching  was  very  simple;  there  were  certain 
lessons  to  be  learned,  and  the  pupils  had  to 
learn  them.  Did  I  rule  by  love  or  by  fear? 
Well,  it  all  depended  on  the  circumstances.  The 
man  who  wrote,  **He  that  spareth  his  rod  hat- 
eth  his  son,"  was  my  countryman,  and  I  was 
in  deep  sympathy  with  him;  so  also  were  the 
parents  who  had  committed  their  children  to 
my  care.  And  while  love  was  not  wholly 
ignored,  I  did  not  very  often  allow  myself  even 
to  seem  to  "hate"  my  pupils  for  the  sake  of 
undue  economy  in  the  use  of  the  rod.  It  is 
possible  that  the  punishment  of  certain  pupils 
might  have  been  excessive  and  that  of  others 

[  150  ] 


SCHOOL  TEACHER   AND  EMIGRANT 

too  light,  but  the  average  was  just  right,  and 
the  response  of  the  children  to  the  stimulus 
was  most  gratifying.  No  lessons  I  ever  as- 
signed to  them  proved  too  hard  for  them  to 
learn.  In  the  mean  time  the  purely  social  rela- 
tions between  teacher  and  pupils  were  always 
very  cordial.  Those  bright  boys  even  brought 
me  presents;  but  whether  those  gifts  were 
marks  of  appreciation  of  my  services,  or  bribes, 
I  cannot  now  tell. 

But  as  a  teacher  in  a  Christian  missionary 
school  I  was  supposed  also  to  be  ready  and 
willing  to  exercise  the  function  of  a  "local 
preacher,"  and,  on  necessity,  conduct  a  simple 
church  service  after  the  apostolic  fashion.  Only 
twice  during  my  three  years  of  school-teaching 
did  I  avail  myself  of  the  privilege  of  preaching, 
once  in  Suk-el-Gharb,  where  I  spoke  again 
before  the  Christian  Endeavor  Society  to  a 
better  advantage  than  I  had  done  nvo  years 
before,  and  once  in  the  city  of  Muallekah,  a 
twin  sister  of  Zahlah.  This  last  experience  was 
rather  trying.    It  was  on  a  Sunday  evening 

[   151   ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

when  I  was  asked  to  supply  the  pulpit  of  the 
small  Protestant  church  in  that  city.  With 
another  youth,  who  was. my  assistant  in  the 
Zahlah  school,  I  proceeded  to  Muallekah,  pre- 
pared to  conduct  the  full  church  service  and 
preach  a  short  sermon.  When  the  time  arrived 
for  the  service  to  begin,  besides  my  assistant 
there  was  only  one  worshiper  in  the  sanctuary, 
a  woman.  Nevertheless,  as  one  commissioned 
to  proclaim  the  message  of  the  Gospel  on  that 
Sabbath  evening,  I  ascended  into  the  pulpit 
and  began  the  service,  hoping  that  other  wor- 
shipers would  soon  come  in.  I  gave  the  invoca- 
tion and  read  a  hymn,  which  for  obvious  reasons 
was  not  sung.  No  other  worshipers  arrived. 
I  read  the  Scripture  lesson  and  offered  the  "  long 
prayer."  When  I  opened  my  eyes  I  found  that 
the  woman,  who  must  have  felt  very  lonely, 
was  asleep.  Certainly  the  time  was  not  very 
opportune  to  do  great  evangelistic  work.  I 
dared  not  look  at  m.y  assistant  for  fear  he  might 
burst  out  laughing.  But  be  it  said  to  his  eternal 
credit  that  that  youth  continued  in  a  most 

[   152  ] 


SCHOOL  TEACHER  AND   EMIGRANT 

reverential  attitude  until  I  had  read  another 
hymn  and  pronounced  the  benediction.  And 
I  did  not  blame  him  a  particle  for  his  laughing 
terribly  all  the  way  home,  and  for  telling  me 
that  if  I  continued  to  preach  to  such  huge 
congregations,  in  a  very  few  years  Protestant- 
ism would  sweep  Syria. 

During  my  school-teaching  period  I  applied 
myself  to  the  search  after  knowledge  with  strong 
and  sustained  zeal.  Owing  to  the  scarcity  of 
books,  my  range  of  subjects  was  very  narrow. 
The  Arabic  language  and  literature  absorbed 
almost  all  my  time  and  effort.  I  mastered 
its  grammar  and  rhetoric,  read  extensively 
in  its  literature,  and  committed  to  memory 
hundreds  of  lines  of  poetry,  chiefly  from  the 
ancient  classical  poets.  When  I  became  able 
to  write  correct  poetry,  in  classical  Arabic,  I 
considered  the  prize  of  m^y  educational  call- 
ing won.  My  absorption  in  this  study  led  me 
to  neglect  the  English  language  entirely.  It 
ceased  to  have  any  charms  for  me,  and  grad- 
ually became  a  faint  and  tarnished  memory. 

[  153  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

In  my  last  year  in  Suk-el-Gharb  I  touched 
the  fringe  of  Occidental  life  at  two  points.  First, 
I  acquired  a  European-  costume.  European 
dress  was  slowly  becoming  the  attire  of  the  new 
"aristocracy  of  learning."  When  I  first  donned 
this  fashionable  but  strange  garb,  I  was 
ashamed  to  appear  where  people  might  look  at 
me.  The  lower  half  of  my  person  felt  quite  bare 
and  my  legs  seemed  uncomfortably  long.  The 
habit  of  sitting  on  the  floor  often  asserted  itself 
unconsciously,  and  occasionally  endangered  the 
seams  of  the  newly  acquired  costume.  My 
townspeople  most  uncharitably  called  me  "the 
man  in  tights."  Happily  for  me,  I  only  put  on 
the  strange  garb  on  special  occasions,  and  re- 
'  tained  with  it  the  Turkish  fez  as  a  connecting 
link  between  the  East  and  the  West. 

My  other  touch  of  Occidental  life  came  from 
dining  with  the  other  teachers  one  evening  at 
the  home  of  the  American  missionary.  Here  it 
was  that  I  heard  the  piano  for  the  first  and  last 
time  in  Syria,  and  ate  with  the  knife  and  fork. 
The  chief  dish  of  the  occasion  consisted  of  a 

[  154  ] 


MR.     RIHBANY    AT    2 1 
Taken  at  Zahlah.     The  first  photograph 


SCHOOL  TEACHER  AND  EMIGRANT 

stratum  of  dough  baked  over  a  dissected 
chicken.  When  my  plate  reached  me  heavily 
laden  with  the  strange  composition,  I  was  not  a 
little  puzzled  to  know  how  it  was  to  be  eaten. 
I  deemed  it  wise  to  follow  the  example  of  the 
others,  but  to  disengage  the  flesh  from  the  bones 
of  a  chicken,  with  knife  and  fork,  was  a  painful 
experience  to  me.  Lacking  skill,  I  applied  force, 
when  suddenly  my  awkward  eating  tools  slipped, 
and  almost  broke  the  plate.  I  was  deeply 
impressed  with  the  gracious  dignity  of  my  host, 
who  appeared  not  to  notice  it,  while  my  fellow 
Syrian  guests  (I  suppose  because  of  our  famili- 
arity with  one  another)  snickered  at  my  dis- 
tressing experience. 

My  three  years  of  activity  and  intellectual 
endeavor  as  a  school-teacher,  while  they  proved 
advantageous  in  many  ways,  failed  to  put  me 
on  the  highway  of  true  progress.  My  salary 
kept  me  on  the  level  of  poverty,  and  the  oppor- 
tunities for  promotion  were  extremely  scant. 
I  began  to  realize  that  soul-expansion  and  a 
useful  career  in  the  world  of  knowledge  de- 

[  iss  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

pended  first  and  last,  not  on  the  theories  of  the 
schoolroom,  but  on  the  enlightened  and  pro- 
gressive genius  of  a  nation.-  I  could  claim  no 
nationality  and  no  flag.  The  rule  of  the  Turk, 
especially  during  the  reign  of  the  ruthless 
Abdul-Hamid,  was  painfully  repressive.  Under 
it  love  of  freedom  and  of  progress  was  a  crime 
against  the  State.  The  hawk-eyed  detectives 
of  the  tyrant  infested  the  land  and  haunted 
with  fear  the  souls  of  our  influential,  forw^ard- 
looking  citizens.  To  those  of  our  people  who 
deemed  obedience  to  authority  the  greatest 
virtue,  living  under  such  conditions  was  on 
the  whole  agreeable.  But  to  those  of  us  who 
had  tasted  the  fruits  of  modem  knowledge  and 
been  led  by  it  to  read  greater  meanings  in 
human  life  and  to  crave  a  larger  and  freer  intel- 
lectual and  social  environment,  the  existing 
order  seemed  like  an  iron  cage  against  which 
our  wings  beat  in  vain. 

I  woke  up  intellectually  only  to  find  that  in 
my  own  country  the  European  enjoyed  far 
greater  political  and  social  privileges  than  I  did  ; 

[   156  ] 


SCHOOL  TEACHER  AND  EMIGRANT 

that  nothing  was  really  secure  in  a  land  where 
the  ruler  maintained  a  firm  hold  upon  his  sub- 
jects by  promoting  divisions  and  instigating 
massacres  among  them.  I  never  saw  a  manu- 
factured article  bearing  the  stamp  of  a  native 
factory,  nor  had  I  known  an  inventive  genius 
to  be  met  with  anything  but  suppression.  Our 
schools  were  simply  foreign  colonies,  tolerated 
by  the  Sultan  because  of  the  Great  Powers 
which  stood  behind  them.  The  enlightened 
youth  of  the  country  not  only  lacked  the  oppor- 
tunities which  call  forth  and  develop  the  nobler 
human  qualities,  but  were  constantly  watched 
by  the  Government  as  possible  revolutionists. 
With  a  multitude  of  other  young  men  I  longed 
and  prayed  inwardly  and  silently  for  better 
things,  or,  at  least,  for  the  opportunity  to 
emigrate  from  a  country  in  which  life  slowly  but 
surely  grew  to  mxcan  intellectual  and  moral 
death. 

Whither  should  I  go?  On  one  occasion  Mr. 
Pond  suggested  to  me  to  enter  the  ministry  in 
my  own  country.   He  thought  I  was  qualified 

[  157  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

by  nature  for  the  sacred  office,  and  lacked  only 
the  training,  which  I  could  have,  free,  in  the 
theological  department  of*  the  Syrian  Protes- 
tant College  in  Beyrout. 

The  offer  did  not  appeal  to  me  very  strongly. 
The  preachers  I  had  listened  to  in  school, 
including  Mr.  Pond  himself,  made  no  strong 
impression  on  me.  Their  messages  were  al- 
most wholly  formal  statements  of  doctrine, 
whose  dynamic  power  decreased  in  propor- 
tion as  they  were  repeated  from  Sunday  to 
Sunday. 

My  answer  to  Mr.  Pond's  proposition  was 
that  I  had  never  contemplated  entering  the 
ministry,  nor  did  I  feel  at  the  time  inclined  to 
entertain  such  an  idea.  We  both  "hoped"  that 
in  the  future  I  might  be  led  to  take  such  a  step. 
My  hope,  however,  was  a  mere  imitation  of  his, 
for  the  matter  dropped  from  my  mind  soon 
after  I  left  his  house. 

At  last  I  concluded  to  continue  teaching 
school,  preferring,  however,  to  return  to 
Zahlah,  where  I  had  worked  during  my  second 

[   158  ] 


SCHOOL  TEACHER  AND   EMIGRANT 

year  as  teacher.  Early  in  September,  1891,  I 
went  thither  to  visit  some  friends  and  more 
particularly  to  apply  for  my  former  position  as 
a  teacher. 

Upon  my  arrival  I  was  told  that  two  young 
men,  who  had  been  close  friends  of  mine,  were 
to  leave  for  America  the  following  morning. 
The  news  startled  me.  Certainly  I  must  go  and 
bid  them  good-bye.  Soon  after  supper  I  called 
at  the  home  of  one  of  them  and  found  them 
both  there.  We  fell  on  one  another's  neck  and 
kissed  in  Oriental  fashion. 

Speaking  both  at  once,  they  said,  "Abraham, 
why  don't  you  go  with  us?  What  is  there  in 
Syria  for  a  man  like  you?  Come,  let  us  go  to 
America  together.'* 

The  words  of  my  friends,  while  they  stirred 
violently  the  depths  of  my  soul  and  awakened 
a  thousand  slumbering  hopes,  rendered  me 
speechless. 

"Why  don't  you  say  yes?"  they  asked. 
"Let  nothing  stand  in  your  way,  and  let  us 
make  the  voyage  together." 

[  159  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

*'How  can  I  go/'  I  said,  "with  so  many 
obstacles  in  the  way?" 

"What  obstacles?"  queried  my  friends.  "If 
your  chief  difficulty  is  financial,  we  stand  ready 
to  lend  you  all  the  money  you  need  until  you 
reach  New  York.  What  better  chance  can  you 
ask  for?" 

The  moment  seemed  to  me  of  divine  signi- 
ficance. Really,  what  better  chance  could  I  ask 
or  hope  for?  At  last  America  was  within  my 
reach.  Would  it  be  anything  short  of  madness 
to  let  such  a  great  privilege  go  by  ?  I  had  to  act 
on  my  own  responsibility,  but  I  remembered 
that  when  I  dropped  my  tools  as  a  stone-mason 
and  went  to  school,  I  had  to  act  on  my  own 
responsibility;  when  I  left  the  Church  of  my 
fathers  and  became  a  Protestant,  I  had  to  fol- 
low m.y  own  course.  Now  I  was  called  upon  to 
make  a  third  great  decision,  and  to  make  it 
quickly.  The  wiser  powers  within  and  above 
me  again  asserted  themselves,  and  I  decided 
that  I  would  go  to  America.  Our  final  plan  was 
that  I  was  to  return  home  at  once,  secure  all  the 
[   i6o  ] 


SCHOOL  TEACHER  AND   EMIGRANT 

money  I  could,  and,  within  two  days,  join  my 
friends  at  Bey  rout,  whence  we  were  to  sail  for 
the  New  World. 

Betater  lies  about  halfway  between  Zahlah 
and  Beyrout,  and  about  three  miles  to  the  south 
of  the  carriage  road  which  connects  Beyroul 
with  Damascus.  My  friends  and  I  were  to 
travel  together  the  next  day,  until  we  reached 
the  branch  road  which  led  to  my  home  town, 
where  I  was  to  part  from  them,  with  the  hope  of 
rejoining  them  at  the  specified  time  in  the  great 
commercial  city  on  the  shore  of  the  Mediter- 
ranean. The  required  change  in  the  programme 
of  my  visit  to  Zahlah  was  very  simple;  my 
friends  had  already  engaged  tw^o  horses  to  carry 
them  to  Beyrout,  and  all  I  needed  to  do  was 
to  hire  a  similar  mount  for  myself.  It  was  a  bit 
amusing  to  our  whole  company  when  the  owner 
of  the  horses  said  that  he  could  not  find  a 
"rear*  horse  for  me  on  such  short  notice,  but 
would  give  me  a  kedish  (a  pack-horse),  which  is 
not  considered  an  elegant  mount  by  the  elite 
of  the  country.  But  the  owner  said  it  was 
[  i6i   I 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

"very  light,"  —  that  is,  a  good  traveler,  —  and 
I  was  willing  even  to  be  carried  on  a  rail  on 
such  a  happy  journey. 

Shortly  after  midnight  we  mounted  our  thor- 
oughbreds and  followed  the  winding  carriage 
road  from  the  neighborhood  of  Zahlah  up  the 
eastern  slopes  of  Western  Lebanon.  On  that 
highway  of  Syrian  trade  and  travel  the  night 
was  enchantingly  alive  with  caravans,  trains  of 
mules  and  donkeys,  flocks  of  sheep  and  goats, 
and  groups  of  pedestrians.  With  the  crashing 
of  hoofs  and  shuffling  of  feet  mingled  the  jing- 
ling of  camel  bells,  braying  of  donkeys,  bleating 
of  sheep,  and  quaint,  romantic,  many-dialect 
human  songs,  to  all  of  which  we  added  our  own 
happy,  youthful  melodies.  We  reached  the 
summit  of  the  mountain  just  as  the  purple 
banners  of  the  advancing  day  began  to  stream 
over  Eastern  Lebanon,  light  the  heights  and 
render  the  gloom  of  the  valleys  more  majestic. 
From  that  lofty  summit  my  eyes  beheld  for  the 
last  time  a  scene  of  unsurpassed  glory.  To  the 
south  arose  the  giant,  hoary  head  of  Mount 
[  162  ] 


SCHOOL  TEACHER  AND   EMIGRANT 

Hermon,  the  aged  sentinel  of  the  Promised 
Land ;  to  the  east  the  storm-spHntered  peaks  of 
Anti-Lebanon  screened  the  region  of  Damascus 
from  our  sight  and  extended  north  to  the  land 
of  Hamath  and  the  Orontes.  The  plain  of 
Buk'a  lay  between  the  tw^o  Lebanons,  covered 
with  its  rich,  grayish-brown,  post-harvest 
mantle.  To  the  west  the  eye  followed  the  slopes 
of  Western  Lebanon  to  the  charmed  land  of  the 
PhcEnicians  and  the  borders  of  Sidon  and  Tyre, 
and  rested  within  the  vast  curve  of  the  horizon 
over  the  blue  deep  of  the  Mediterranean.  Like 
the  last  look  at  a  beloved  face  that  scene 
remains  with  me  a  vivid  and  entrancing  mem- 
ory. I  never  can  repeat  Harriet  Beecher  Stowe's 
lines,  — 

"  Alone  with  thee  when  purple  morning  breaketh, 
When  the  bird  waketh  and  the  shadows  flee,"  — 

without  recalling  the  compelling  vision  which 
filled  my  soul  on  that  morning  on  the  summit  of 
my  native  Lebanon. 

We  dismounted  for  breakfast  at  the  Khan  of 
Dher-el-Beider  —  an  inn  of  historic  fame  in 

[  163   1 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

that  locality.  Hanging  in  the  archway  of  the 
famous  inn  were  part  of  the  carcass  of  a  sheep 
and  a  goatskin  full  of  thick  lehen.  Do  you 
know  what  lehen  is?  It  is  milk  soured  artifi- 
cially, —  not  with  chemicals,  however,  but  with 
a  yeast  of  its  own  kind.  It  is  thickened  by  being 
put  in  a  white  muslin  sack,  or  a  goatskin,  and 
thus  drained  of  its  water.  This  delicacy,  which 
is  being  slowly  introduced  into  this  country,  is 
so  dear  to  the  Syrian  heart,  and  has  been  for 
ages,  that  the  Bible  counts  it  as  one  of  the 
precious  assets  of  the  "land  of  promise'*  by 
saying  that  it  flowed,  not  with  "milk,"  as  in 
the  English  translation,  but  with  ^'lebefi  and 
honey." 

We  did  not  ask  whether  the  mutton  before 
us  had  been  "inspected";  that  was  none  of  our 
business.  We  simply  ordered  broiled  meat  and 
leben  for  our  breakfast.  The  innkeeper  instantly 
obeyed ;  he  cut  off^  a  chunk  of  meat,  cut  it  up  in 
small  squares,  strung  the  same  on  slender  iron 
rods,  broiled  them  over  a  charcoal  fire,  and 
served  the  breakfast,  apparently  with  as  much 

[  164  ] 


SCHOOL   TEACHER  AND  EMIGRANT 

laudable  pride  as,  on  similar  occasions,  thrills 
the  heart  of  the  most  elegant  housekeeper. 

But  what  I  recall  now  with  no  little  amuse- 
ment is  the  way  we  tried,  while  our  horses  paced 
westward,  to  sketch  the  map  of  our  destiny  in 
the  New  World.  The  fact  that  of  the  country  in 
which  we  were  trying  to  plan  our  future  we 
knew  very  little  more  than  the  name  did  not 
seem  to  weigh  much  with  us.  The  absence  of 
concrete  facts  upon  which  to  base  inferences, 
and  the  uncertainties  of  the  future  and  an  un- 
known country  are,  as  a  rule,  no  real  hindran- 
ces to  the  flight  of  Oriental  fancy.  Now  we 
would  think  of  ourselves  as  occupying  positions 
of  distinction  and  honor,  blest  with  riches  and 
culture  and  far-reaching  influence.  Then  again, 
suspecting  that  we  might  be  assuming  a  little 
too  much,  we  would  clothe  ourselves  with  real 
humility,  and,  with  unanimous  consent,  pledge 
ourselves  to  "take  whatever  came  in  our  way," 
because  a  haughty  heart  is  never  pleasing  to 
God.  Now  and  then  a  faint  flicker  of  wisdom 
would  intrude  upon  our  earnest  deliberations 

[  165  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

and  we  would  say,  in  a  chorus,  "Wait  until  we 
get  to  America.'' 

It  was  at  that  point,  which  has  been  named 
since  by  the  authorities  of  the  Beyrout- 
Damascus  Raihoad  (which  at  the  time  of  our 
trip  did  not  exist)  "Behamdun  Station,"  that 
I  dismounted,  surrendered  my  modest  horse 
to  my  friends,  who  took  it  with  them  to  Bey- 
rout,  and  continued  my  journey  to  Betater 
afoot,  with  hope  and  fear  struggHng  violently 
in  my  breast. 

My  return  home  on  the  very  next  day  after 
I  had  started  on  a  two-weeks  visit  to  Zahlah 
was  a  shocking  surprise  to  my  mother.  "My 
son,"  she  exclaimed,  '' kheir-in-sha-Allah  (may 
all  be  well  by  the  will  of  Allah),  what  brought 
you  back  so  soon?"  "Nothing  but  kheir^ 
mother,"  I  answered.  "  I  am  going  to  America." 
A  veritable  shower  of  interrogatives  —  "  How } " 
"When?"  "With  whom?"  "Why?"  "With 
what  are  you  going  to  America?"  —  and  so 
forth  —  fell  from  my  mother's  lips.  I  told  her 
the  story  in  as  attractive  a  manner  as  possible 
[  i66  ] 


SCHOOL  TEACHER   AND   EMIGRANT 

and  begged  her  to  place  no  obstacles  in  my 
way.  My  father  was  at  once  sent  for ;  he  quit 
working  and  came  home  to  counsel  with  us. 
While  my  sudden  decision  was  a  great  surprise 
to  my  parents,  it  was  not  altogether  unpleasant. 
They  had  confidence  in  me  because  I  was  "a 
learned  man."  They  regretted  deeply  my  hav- 
ing to  depend  on  others  for  funds,  but  it  all 
seemed  to  them  Allah's  will.  Pushing  her  scarf 
back  from  her  forehead  and  lifting  her  eyes  and 
hands  to  heaven,  my  mother  implored  the  all- 
seeing,  all-wise  Father,  whose  will  it  was  that 
her  favorite  son  should  be  torn  away  from  her 
arms,  possibly  forever,  to  guide  and  prosper 
him,  and  return  him  safe  to  his  father's  house. 
The  problem  of  a  teskara  (passport),  without 
which  I  could  not  legally  leave  the  country, 
next  confronted  us.  It  was  no  easy  matter  to 
secure  this  legal  document,  and  the  time  at  my 
disposal  was  very  short.  I  never  can  think  of 
the  story  of  my  teskara  without  at  least  taking 
notice  of  the  belief  that  "great  events  cast  their 
shadows  before  them."  During  the  summer 
[  167  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

which  had  just  closed  I  happened  to  be  at 
Bet-Eddin,  the  capital  of  our  province,  on  a 
visit  to  a  schoolmate  whose  brother  was  influ- 
ential in  government  circles.  During  a  conver- 
sation on  the  subject  of  emigration  that  official 
asked  me  whether  I  had  any  intention  of  leav- 
ing Syria,  if  the  opportunity  offered  itself.  I 
answered  that  I  had  the  intention,  but  doubted 
whether  such  a  thing  could  happen  for  a  long 
time  to  come.  He  stated  very  graciously  that  as 
the  teskara  problem  was  no  small  one,  he  should 
be  glad  to  arrange  matters  in  such  a  way  as  to 
make  it  easy  for  me  to  secure  the  necessary 
paper.  "But,"  I  answered,  **the  law  requires 
that  I  make  my  application  in  person  and  pro- 
vide tw^o  witnesses  to  identify  me."  "Yes,"  he 
said,  "but  I  will  take  care  of  all  that.  Let  me 
have  your  name,  destination,  description,  etc., 
and  when  you  need  the  teskara^  send  to  me  for 
it."  The  offer  w^as  altogether  too  attractive  for 
me  to  reject  it  and  I  gladly  complied  with  my 
influential  friend's  request.  My  destination  was 
to  be  Alexandria. 

[  i68  ] 


SCHOOL  TEACHER   AND   EMIGRANT 

So  when  the  pressing  need  for  a  teskara  did 
come,  I  called  one  of  my  father's  men  and  said 
to  him,  "Elias,  I  will  pay  you  double  wages 
to-morrow,  if  you  will  go  to  Bet-Eddin  (a  six 
hours'  journey  on  foot  each  way),  deliver  this 
letter  to  Salim  Effendi,  and  bring  back  the  an- 
swer and  whatever  other  papers  he  will  give 
you.  You  will  say  not  a  word  about  my  going 
to  America  to  any  one  else  but  him."  I  do  not 
know  in  what  one  of  the  small  hours  of  the 
night  Elias  started  on  his  momentous  journey. 
What  I  do  know  is  that  my  intense  anxiety 
about  the  teskara  made  the  day  seem  endless. 
Whatever  I  was  doing,  the  teskara  was  in  my 
mind  which  brooded  constantly  over  the  ques- 
tions:''Suppose  Salim  Effendi  should  happen 
to  be  absent  from  home,  or  that  he  should  fail 
to  secure  the  longed-for  paper  without  my  pres- 
ence in  court  in  person,  or  that  the  court  should 
not  be  in  session?"  ''If  the  teskara  failed  to 
come,  should  I  give  up  going  to  America,  or  ex- 
pose myself  to  the  penalty  of  an  unjust  law  and 
to  being  disgraced  by  trying  to  leave  the  coun- 

[  169  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

try  as  a  fugitive?"  However,  the  beneficent 
powers  seem  to  have  been  in  control,  and  all 
my  fears  were  drowned  fathoms  deep  when 
shortly  after  supper  my  faithful  messenger  ap- 
peared at  the  door  dripping  with  perspiration 
and  covered  with  dust.  Knowing  how  anxious 
I  was  to  secure  the  teskara  he  had  it  out  of  his 
pocket,  and,  as  soon  as  my  eyes  met  his,  threw 
the  precious  document  into  my  hands.  "Well 
done,  Elias!"  I  shouted;  "may  God  increase 
your  offspring!"  Elias  was  paid  double  his 
wages  (sixty  cents)  and  given  his  supper,  in- 
cluding a  big  glass  of  wine,  besides. 

All  the  money  which  my  father  could  give  me 
amounted  to  three  napoleons.  He  wept  because 
he  could  find  no  more.  It  required  no  very  long 
time  to  complete  m_y  preparations  for  the  voy- 
age. My  clothes  were  tied  up  into  a  bundle  in 
a  large  bandanna.  My  "bed  for  the  ship"  was 
much  like  that  of  the  man  who  was  sick  of  the 
palsy,  consisting  of  a  cushion,  a  pillow,  and  a 
light  quilt.  With  such  an  equipment  I  rejoined 
m.y  friends  at  Beyrout,  at  the  appointed  time. 

[   170  1 


SCHOOL  TEACHER  AND   EMIGRANT 

^  Our  most  important  task  was  to  secure  the 
indorsement  of  our  teskaras  —  by  the  Beyrout 
officials.  Difficuhies  were  often  placed  in  the 
way  of  emigrants  from  Turkey  by  the  officials 
for  the  purpose  of  extorting  money  from  them. 
Emigration  to  America  was  discouraged  and 
generally  supposed  to  be  prohibited.  Our  pass- 
ports indicated  that  our  destination  was 
Alexandria,  which  was  true,  but  not  the  whole 
truth.  Moreover,  our  more  refined  speech  and 
manners  seemed  to  remove  us,  in  the  minds  of 
the  officials,  from  the  ordinary  class  of  emi- 
grants. For  the  indorsing  of  our  passports  we 
were  required  to  pay  half  a  madjidy  —  Turkish 
dollar  —  each,  and  we  thought  our  exit  from 
the  unbeloved  empire  was  rather  cheap., 

.Our  opinion  was  probably  suspected,  for 
shortly  after  we  left  the  wharf,  our  boat  was 
halted  and  an  officer  demanded  our  teskaras. 
The  inspector  appeared  stern  and  doubtful. 
Our  own  boatman  advised  us  to  "present"  the 
inspector  with  half  a  madjidy  each,  and  avoid 
more  unpleasant  things.  We  heeded  the  advice 

[   171   ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

and  the  boat  went  on.  When  we  were  within  a 
few  yards  of  our  steamer  another  haughty  in- 
spector interrupted  our  progress  and  demanded 
our  ieskaras.  Another  "half  a  madjidy  each" 
gave  us  our  freedom.  We  left  our  "mother 
country"  with  nothing  but  curses  for  her 
Government  on  our  lips. ' 

Our  steamer  tickets  entitled  us  to  passage 
from  Beyrout  to  Marseilles  as  "deck  passen- 
gers"—  the  equivalent  of  the  steerage  on 
Atlantic  liners.  With  more  gayety  than  wisdom 
we  established  our  quarters  high  up  on  the  fore- 
deck.  There  were  more  sheltered  places,  but 
we  scorned  them. 

Joppa  was  our  first  stopping-place.  Next 
came  Port  Said,  where  a  large  contingent  of 
Russian  Jews  joined  us.  This  little  city  seemed 
to  me  a  wonder.  A  department  store,  a  mere 
toy  compared  with  the  department  stores  of 
America,  dazzled  me.  Its  large  glass  windows 
and  a  real  sidewalk  around  it  quickened  my 
poetic  sense.  I  seemed  to  myself  to  have  come 
face  to  face  with  some  of  the  wonders  of  the 

[   172  ] 


.^ 


f-    -i*^ 


^;^#ri.'t-f^/f!*<.'t^ ' 


'^^ 


♦  -"-;  7   #--»■-»♦••*<*#  ' 


:iiS 


THE    TESKARA    WITH    WHICH    MR.    RIHBANY 
LEFT    SYRIA 


SCHOOL  TEACHER  AND  EMIGRANT 

world,  and  my  pen  spared  not  in  describing  the 
scenes  before  me. 

Alexandria  came  next,  and  Port  Said  was 
dwarfed  in  my  imagination.  I  tore  up  the 
description  of  the  department  store  and  pro- 
ceeded to  poetize  the  great  city  of  Alexan- 
der. 

Shortly  after  we  left  this  port  for  Marseilles, 
the  Mediterranean  began  to  be  unfriendly. 
Our  quarters  on  the  foredeck,  our  trunks  and 
bedding,  caught  the  copious  spray  from  every 
wave.  Our  gayety  changed  to  grave  concern, 
and  all  our  singing  ceased.  A  peculiar  ailment 
also  seized  me  just  below  the  diaphragm.  With 
our  portable  beds  in  our  arms  we  sought  more 
sheltered  places,  but  found  them  all  filled  with 
an  inhospitable  crowd  of  Jews  and  Gentiles.  In 
our  extremity,  we  resorted  to  a  malodorous 
recess  on  the  port  side  of  the  lower  deck  where 
many  trunks  and  bundles  of  clothing  had  been 
thrown  for  shelter,  and  where  ducks  and  other 
feathery  fellow  creatures  were  kept  within  wire 
screens.    The  ducks  gave  screams  of  terror 

[  173   ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

because  of  our  intrusion,  and  we  did  no  less,  be- 
cause of  their  presence  there.  Other  human 
beings  joined  us  in  that- locaHty,  and  we  all 
lay  piled  on  top  of  that  heap  of  freight,  across 
one  another's  bodies,  much  like  the  neglected 
wounded  in  a  great  battle. 

An  incident  which  occurred  in  that  hole 
(which  I  have  called  ever  since  "the  duck 
apartment")  still  lives  in  my  memory,  because 
of  its  amusing  and  ethical  aspects  alike. 

Lying  across  my  legs,  and  barely  within 
shelter,  was  a  very  kind-hearted.  God-fearing 
man  from  Damascus.  I  was  just  telling  him 
not  to  allow  another  person  to  come  in  with  us, 
because  we  w^ere  almost  suffocated  as  it  was, 
when  we  heard  a  woman  approaching  us,  utter- 
ing in  the  Egyptian  dialect  terrible  impreca- 
tions against  the  steamship  company. 

I  felt  that  a  veritable  terror  was  about  to 
visit  us,  and  very  ungallantly  called  to  him, 
**  By  the  life  of  Heaven,  don't  allow  this  woman 
in  here!"  In  a  second  she  was  upon  us,  and  de- 
manded accommodation. 

[   174  ] 


SCHOOL  TEACHER   AND   EMIGRANT 

^' Lewajeh  Allah'' ^  (for  the  face  of  God),  said 
the  kind-hearted  Damascene,  and  squeezed 
himself  a  few  inches  to  one  side.  In  an  instant 
the  wrathful  Egyptian  w^edged  herself  in, 
squirmed  round  until  she  secured  the  proper 
leverage,  and  then  kicking  mightily  with  both 
feet,  pushed  the  beneficent  Damascene  clear 
out  on  the  wave-washed  deck ! 

When  we  landed  at  Marseilles  I  could  hardly 
credit  my  senses.  Everything  Turkish  had  dis- 
appeared and  I  was  walking  the  streets  of 
France,  the  great  country  of  which  I  had  heard 
so  much.  My  friends,  having  studied  at  the 
Syrian  Protestant  College,  besides  having  a 
fair  knowledge  of  the  English  language,  knew 
some  French,  by  the  aid  of  which  we  escaped 
on  many  occasions  from  the  hands  of  interpret- 
ers and  ticket-brokers  of  our  own  nationality. 

In  Marseilles  I  first  saw  electric  lights,  which 
fascinated  me  beyond  description,  and  there  I 

By  this  expression  the  Orientals  mean,  for  no 
earthly  reward.  The  good  deed  is  cast  Godward,  and 
finds  compensation  with  Him. 

[  175  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

first  marveled  at  a  railway  train.  I  narrowly 
escaped  being  run  over  near  the  railway  sta- 
tion, when  I  dashed  acro'ss  the  track,  a  very 
short  distance  from  an  incoming  train.  A  uni- 
formed man,  who,  I  infer,  was  a  guard,  shouted 
at  me  so  fiercely  that  I  thought  he  was  beside 
himself.  I  was  not  fully  acquainted  with  the 
fact  that  a  train  would  really  run  over  a  hopeful 
and  ambitious  young  man.  It  was  in  Marseilles 
also  that  I  first  experienced  a  distinctly  Occi- 
dental sensation,  when  I  cast  off  the  soft  Turk- 
ish fez  and  put  a  stiff,  and,  incidentally,  ill- 
fitting,  hat  on  my  head. 

At  Marseilles  we  bought  tickets  for  New 
York.  We  were  shipped  by  train  (third-class) 
to  Paris,  whence,  after  a  halt  of  a  few  hours 
during  which  we  wandered  in  the  neighborhood 
of  the  railway  station,  —  "just  to  see  Paris,"  — 
we  were  reshipped  to  Havre.  Here  we  were 
herded  in  a  lodging-house,  together  with  many 
other  steerage  passengers,  for  two  nights,  and 
were  each  of  us  given  a  table  equipment  of 
tinware,  consisting  of  a  plate,  two  spoons  differ- 

[  176  ] 


SCHOOL  TEACHER  AND   EMIGRANT 

ing  in  size,  a  cup,  and  a  knife  and  fork.  On  the 
day  of  sailing  we  were  marched  out  to  the 
steamer  in  the  style  of  well-behaved  convicts, 
carrying  our  labels  in  our  hats. 

The  steerage  of  those  days  on  a  second-  or 
third-class  steamer  certainly  fell  below  the 
worst  tenement  house.  Hundreds  of  men, 
women,  and  children  were  herded  together  in  a 
large  and  filthy  cave  in  the  lower  regions  of  the 
steamer,  under  conditions  which  precluded 
even  the  commonest  decency.  The  food  was 
distributed  to  the  passengers  in  buckets  and 
large  tin  pans,  from  which  they  filled  their  tin 
plates  and  cups,  and  to  the  swift  was  the  race. 

Fortunately  for  us  "college  men,"  and 
thanks  to  the  linguistic  qualifications  of  my 
two  friends,  who  won  the  respect  of  the  captain, 
or  an  officer  who  we  thought  was  the  captain, 
we  were  given  quarters  with  a  few  others  in 
a  room  which  contained  three  tiers  of  three 
berths  each,  and  which  was  more  or  less  success- 
fully partitioned  from  the  main  steerage  quar- 
ters.  We  had  our  full  share  of  the  noise  and 

[  177  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

stench  of  the  general  surroundings,  but  we 
enjoyed  greatly  the  decency  of  our  partial 
seclusion. 

Almost  all  the  way  I  suffered  from  that 
peculiar  sickness  whose  acquaintance  I  first 
made  between  Alexandria  and  Marseilles. 
Having  seen  much  better  days  at  home,  the 
diet  of  the  steamer  tortured  my  soul.  The 
lower  class  of  Europeans  did  by  no  means 
appeal  most  exquisitely  to  my  aesthetic  sense. 
My  physical  weakness  made  the  uncertainty 
of  my  future  and  my  financial  difficulties 
oppressive  to  me.  But  hope  rem^ained  alive,  the 
great  New  World,  the  enchanter  of  my  soul, 
was  very  near  at  hand,  and  the  God  of  my 
fathers  was  my  God  and  helper. 

On  the  evening  of  October  6,  1891,  our 
steamer  cast  anchor  in  the  harbor  of  New 
York,  too  late  for  us  to  disembark.  From  some 
Italian  venders  who  had  boarded  the  ship  we 
bought  the  needful  things  for  the  evening  re- 
past. Here  I  ate  the  first  real  meal  since  we 
had  left  Havre.  A  certain  meat  composite, 

[  178  ] 


SCHOOL   TEACHER  AND   EMIGRANT 

strongly  spiced,  proved  unspeakably  toothsome 
to  me.  Upon  inquiry  I  learned  that  it  was 
called  "bologna/'  which  term  I  rooted  deeply 
in  my  memory  as  the  first  trophy  of  the  New 
World. 

Refreshed  and  sustained  by  my  savory  sup- 
per, and  exhilarated  by  the  thought  of  my 
arrival  in  the  great  city  of  New  York,  I  pro- 
ceeded to  the  casting  of  my  accounts.  The  out- 
come was  not  all  that  could  be  desired.  The 
figures,  which  "do  not  lie,"  show^ed  that  my 
assets  were  about  nine  cents  (half  a  franc)  and 
my  liabilities  forty  dollars,  which  I  owed  to  my 
friends.  Under  those  somewhat  embarrassing 
circumstances,  I  was  to  face  the  inspector  of 
immigrants  at  Ellis  Island  the  following  morn- 
ing. 

But  the  significance  of  the  exact  knowledge  of 
my  straitened  circumstances  went  with  me  far 
beyond  the  usual  depression  one  feels  under 
similar  conditions.  I  was  told  by  well-informed 
fellow  passengers  that  on  the  morrow  I  stood 
in  danger  of  being  deported  because  the  immi- 

[   179  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

gration  laws  of  America  required  an  immigrant 
such  as  I  was,  with  no  family  and  no  position 
awaiting  him  in  this  country,  to  give  satisfac- 
tory evidence  that  he  had  no  less  than  twenty 
dollars  (the  sum  must  have  been  a  mere  guess) 
on  his  person ;  otherwise  he  could  not  be  admit- 
ted into  the  United  States. 

That  was  decidedly  unwelcome  information. 
It  took  away  all  the  pleasure  of  my  bologna 
supper.  To  be  deported  to  Turkey !  Just  think 
of  it !  Had  my  blossoming  hopes  come  so  near 
fruition  only  to  be  blasted?  I  would  not  ask 
my  friends  for  more  money.  They  had  already 
told  me  that  they  could  lend  me  no  more  with- 
out endangering  their  own  future.  But  the 
situation  being  of  such  a  peculiar  nature,  my 
companions  came  to  the  rescue  by  offering  to 
lend  me  four  pounds  "on  demand,"  with  which 
to  meet  the  requirements  of  the  law.  I  found 
no  reason  to  reject  the  offer. 

On  the  following  morning,  armed  with  my 
"  short  loan,"  I  stood  before  the  inspector,  who 
was  a  Syrian,  with  only  slight  tremors  in  my 
[   i8o  1 


SCHOOL   TEACHER  AND  EMIGRANT 

knees.  He  asked  me  my  age,  the  name  of  the 
Syrian  province  whence  I  came,  whether  I 
could  read  and  write,  took  down  my  descrip- 
tion, and  then,  with  a  smile,  asked  me  whether 
I  was  married.  I  came  very  near  giving  myself 
away  when,  with  a  smile  broader  still  than  his, 
I  answered,  "What  should  I  do  with  a  wife, 
when  I  can  hardly  take  care  of  myself?" 

With  a  very  encouraging  laugh,  he  said, 
"Married  Syrian  immigrants  get  on  much 
better  in  this  country  than  the  unmarried."  > 

I  do  not  know  now  in  what  connection  I 
quoted  two  lines  of  poetry  to  the  genial  in- 
spector, and,  with  more  playfulness  than  wis- 
dom, asked  him  whether  he  knew  of  any 
beautiful  damsel  in  the  Syrian  colony  who 
would  consider  the  advances  of  a  willing  young 
poet.  With  another  hearty  smile,  he  said, 
"Pass  on,  you  are  all  right."  He  did  not  ask 
about  money !  As  we  passed  out  of  the  building, 
my  merry  friends  said,  "Abraham,  your  wily 
poetry  served  you  well  this  time."  With  a 
mixed  feeling  of  relief  and  anxiety,  I  returned 
[   i8i   ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

the  emergency  loan  and  held  fast  my  half-franc. 
We  landed  at  Battery  Place,  explored  the 
dock  for  our  trunks,  which  we  discovered  in  a 
small  mountain  of  baggage,  and  proceeded  to  a 
lodging-house  on  Washington  Street,  the  chief 
center  of  the  Syrian  colony  in  New  York. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

IN   NEW  YORK  WITH   NINE   CENTS 

It  was  no  easy  task  for  me  on  the  morning  of 
that  ^h  of  October,  1891,  to  beHeve  my  senses 
when  I  first  experienced  that  well-nigh  over- 
whelming feeling  that  I  was  really  in  the  great 
city  of  New  York.  As  our  little  party  proceeded 
on  across  Battery  Park  up  toward  Washington 
Street,  I  felt  the  need  of  new  faculties  to  fit  my 
new  environment.  A  host  of  questions  besieged 
my  mind.  Was  I  really  in  New  York?  Was  I 
still  my  old  self,  or  had  some  subtle,  unconscious 
transformation  already  taken  place  in  me? 
Could  I  utter  my  political  and  religious  convic- 
tions freely,  unafraid  of  either  soldier  or  priest  ? 
What  were  the  opportunities  of  the  great  New 
World  into  which  I  had  just  entered?  What 
was  awaiting  me  in  America  whose  life,  as  I 
had  been  told,  was  so  vast,  so  complex,  and 
so  enlightened?  Whatever  the  future  had  "of 
wonder  or  surprise,''  it  seemed  that  merely 

[   183   ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

being  in  the  United  States  was  enough  of  a 
blessing  to  call  forth  my  profoundest  gratitude. 
Nor  did  I  have  to  wait  very  long  for  tangible 
evidence  to  convince  me  that  America  was  the 
land  of  liberty  and  opportunity.  On  that  very 
evening  my  eyes  beheld  a  scene  so  strange  and 
so  delightful  that  I  could  hardly  believe  it  was 
real.  Sitting  in  the  restaurant  early  in  the  even- 
ing we  heard,  approaching  from  the  direction 
of  "uptown,"  band-music  and  the  heavy  tread 
of  a  marching  multitude  which  filled  the  street 
from  curb  to  curb.  Some  one,  looking  out  of 
the  window,  shouted,  "  It  is  the  laborers !  They 
are  on  their  way  to  Battery  Park  to  hold  a 
meeting  and  demand  their  rights.''  That  was 
all  that  was  needed  for  me  to  dash  out  with 
a  few  others  and  follow  the  procession  to  the 
near-by  park.  I  had  heard  in  a  very  fragmen- 
tary way  of  the  ** united  laborers''  in  Europe 
and  America,  but,  while  in  Syria,  and  as  a 
Turkish  subject,  it  was  almost  beyond  me  to 
conceive  of  workingmen  in  collective  moral 
and  political  action.  The  procession  was  dotted 

I   184  ] 


IN  NEW  YORK  WITH  NINE  CENTS 

with  illuminated  banners  inscribed  with  mot- 
toes which  I  could  not  read,  and  the  gathering 
must  have  been  that  of  some  "trade  union." 
Reaching  the  park  the  crowd  halted,  and  a 
huge  mass  of  eager  men  and  a  few  women  faced 
the  impassioned  speakers.  What  those  speakers 
said  was  beyond  my  understanding.  I  was  a 
stranger  to  the  country,  the  English  language, 
and  the  political  and  social  activities  of  free 
men.  From  some  fellow  Syrians  who  under- 
stood English  I  learned  that  those  workingmen 
were  protesting  against  certain  issues  Vvhich  I 
cannot  now  recall.  I  was  intensely  interested 
in  the  conduct  of  the  few  policemen  present. 
They  walked  about  leisurely  around  that  hu- 
man mass,  toyed  with  their  clubs,  and  seemed 
utterly  indifferent  to  all  that  was  going  on. 
The  orderly  conduct  of  the  meeting  and  the 
rational  way  of  protesting  against  wrongs,  real 
or  imaginary,  was  to  me  poetry  set  to  music. 
How  I  wished  I  could  return  to  Syria  just  for 
a  few  hours  and  tell  my  oppressed  countrymen 
what  I  had  seen  in  America ;  just  to  tell  them 

[  185  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

of  the  freedom  and  intelligence  of  the  Ameri- 
can laborer,  and  of  his  right  and  ability  to  con- 
vert parks  and  street-comers  into  lecturing 
platforms. 

But  my  revelry  in  such  delicious  fancies 
could  not  continue  very  long.  The  realization 
of  the  fact  that  my  assets  were  only  nine  cents 
and  my  liabilities  forty  dollars  quickly  silenced 
my  muse.  My  two  good  friends,  having  ful- 
filled their  promise  to  lend  me  enough  money 
to  defray  my  necessary  expenses  until  I  reached 
New  York,  could  do  no  more  for  me  than  recom- 
mend me  to  Abraham,^  their  townsman  and 
the  proprietor  of  the  chief  restaurant  and  lodg- 
ing-house in  the  Syrian  colony.  Their  recom- 
mendation was  decidedly  flattering,  and  it  was 
not  their  fault  that  the  beautiful  picture  of 
my  character  and  attainments,  which  they  put 

^  The  Syrians  invariably  address  a  person  by  his 
given  name,  prefixing  the  title  Khawaja,  or  suffixing 
Effendi,  on  more  formal  occasions.  The  constant  use 
of  only  the  given  names  in  the  Bible,  such  as  David, 
Samuel,  Paul,  John,  etc.,  shows  the  antiquity  of  the 
custom. 

[  i86  ] 


IN  NEW  YORK  WITH  NINE   CENTS 

before  the  proprietor,  contrasted  distressingly 
with  my  actual  financial  circumstances.  The 
forty  dollars  that  I  owed  those  friends  being 
equally  divided  between  them,  I  gave  each  of 
them  a  note  (attested  by  two  witnesses)  for 
twenty  dollars,  for  six  months,  they  promising 
to  extend  the  time  further,  if  it  was  found  neces- 
sary when  the  notes  fell  due. 

When  I  handed  the  notes  to  my  creditors, 
and  we  all  understood  that  from  henceforth  so 
far  as  business  matters  were  concerned  each 
one  of  us  was  to  go  his  own  way  and  work  out 
his  own  salvation,  a  distressing  sense  of  loneli- 
ness came  over  me.  Aside  from  my  two  com- 
panions I  was  not  aware  that  I  had  an  acquaint- 
ance within  a  thousand  miles.  I  had  the  name 
of  a  young  man  whose  family  I  had  known  in 
Syria,  and  who  was  in  business  in  New  York, 
but  I  would  not  seek  him.  My  poverty  made 
me  feel  as  if  every  Syrian  in  New  York  would 
look  upon  me  as  a  beggar  and  shun  my  acquaint- 
ance. It  was,  however,  by  a  fortunate  accident 
that  I  met  this  young  man  on  the  street  the 

[  187  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

next  day  after  I  landed.  Perceiving  my  need, 
he  offered  to  lend  me  a  "little  money/'  I  ac- 
cepted a  loan  of  five  dollars  from  him,  which 
sum  I  vowed  I  would  make  last  until  I  found 
work. 

But  what  I  was  most  keenly  aware  of  when  I 
first  went  into  Abraham's  restaurant  with  my 
"load  of  cares,"  was  hunger.  My  protracted 
sickness  and  the  lack  of  suitable  nourishment 
on  the  steamer  had  reduced  me  to  a  state  of 
starvation.  My  craving  at  the  sight  of  food  was 
ferocious.  For  a  whole  week,  no  matter  how 
often  or  how  much  I  ate,  I  never  felt  satisfied. 
To  face  such  a  state  of  things  on  a  capital  of 
half  a  franc  was  by  no  means  conducive  to 
peaceful  repose.  Soon  after  I  had  been  intro- 
duced to  the  restaurant-keeper  my  hungry  eyes 
fell  on  a  dish  of  maamoul  —  a  delicious  kind  of 
Syrian  sweet  cakes  —  which  stood  on  the 
counter  before  him.  Asking  no  questions  I 
reached  for  one  of  the  cakes  and  proceeded  to 
eat  it,  with  my  eyes  fixed  on  the  dish.  "  Fletch- 
erizing"  was  unknown  to  me  at  the  time,  the 
[   i88  ] 


IN  NEW  YORK  WITH  NINE   CENTS 

cake  swiftly  disappeared,  accentuating  rather 
than  appeasing  my  hunger.  When  I  was  about 
to  reach  for  another,  discretion  interrupted  the 
proceedings,  and  I  asked,  "How  much  are 
they?"  "Ten  cents  each,"  answered  the  pro- 
prietor. I  reached  for  my  half  franc  and  said, 
"This  is  all  I  have."  "Never  mind,"  said  he, 
"we  will  let  it  go  at  that." 

I  turned  my  back  on  the  rest  of  the  cakes. 

I  spent  my  first  night  in  New  York  at  Abra- 
ham's lodging-house,  at  an  expense  of  fifteen 
cents.  Besides  my  sleeping  accommodations  I 
enjoyed  the  privilege  of  doing  my  morning 
ablutions  in  a  dark  hall  on  the  ground  floor, 
where  a  faucet  gave  forth  a  generous  supply  of 
cold  water.  A  large  cake  of  coarse  yellow  soap, 
and  a  public  towel  which  bore  the  marks  of 
extensive  use,  completed  the  appointments. 
Compelled  by  the  circumstances  to  practice 
"plain  living  and  high  thinking,"  I  planned 
my  first  breakfast  in  the  New  World  so  skill- 
fully that  it  cost  me  only  five  cents.  It  was  by 
no  means  satiating. 

[  189  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

Realizing  my  helplessness  while  unable  to 
speak  the  English  language,  I  sought  to  "master 
it"  on  the  very  first  morning  after  my  arrival 
in  New  York.  I  gazed  at  the  multitude  of  store 
"signs"  with  awe.  The  variety  in  the  phrasing 
and  lettering  bewildered  my  brain.  When 
should  I  ever  be  able  to  read  such  hieroglyphics  ? 
Certainly  I  must  be  up  and  doing.  The  only 
English  book  I  could  find  in  the  bedroom  was 
a  small  copy  of  the  Bible,  which  belonged  to 
one  of  my  friends.  I  turned  to  the  Book  of 
Psalms  and  searched  for  a  very  short  one  of  the 
songs  of  Israel,  believing  that  a  short  psalm 
must  consist  of  simple  words.  By  the  eternal 
fitness  of  things  my  hand  was  led  to  the  One 
Hundred  and  Thirty-first  Psalm:  "Lord,  my 
heart  is  not  haughty,  nor  mine  eyes  lofty; 
neither  do  I  exercise  myself  in  great  matters, 
or  in  things  too  high  for  me.  Surely  I  have 
behaved  and  quieted  myself,  as  a  child  that  is 
weaned  of  his  mother:  my  soul  is  even  as  a 
weaned  child."  My  two  companions  helped 
me  to  understand  the  more  difficult  of  the  sacred 

[   190  ] 


IN  NEW  YORK  WITH  NINE  CENTS 

words.  They  made  me  understand  that  the 
word  "haughty''  was  pronounced  hawty  and 
not  hufty ;  they  unsealed  to  my  understanding 
the  meanings  of  the  words  "exercise"  and 
"behaved,"  and,  in  so  far  as  they  themselves 
knew,  they  taught  me  how  to  distribute  the 
emphasis  over  the  measured  lines  of  the  Hebrew 
singer. 

But  my  economic  circumstances  did  not  per- 
mit of  extensive  search  for  knowledge.  To 
remain  content  with  paying  fifteen  cents  a 
night  for  my  lodging  savored  of  recklessness; 
therefore  I  went  about  seeking  cheaper  quarters 
in  the  colony.  Some  public-spirited  country- 
men, agreeing  with  me  that  a  stricter  exercise 
of  economy  was  absolutely  necessary  to  my 
welfare,  informed  me  that  another  Syrian, 
whose  name  was  Moses,  kept  a  sort  of  lodging- 
house,  "good  enough  for  a  man  in  my  circum- 
stances," and  charged  only  five  cents  a  night. 
Certainly  that  was  the  place  for  me,  and  I 
immediately  sought  the  proprietor.  Moses  met 
me  with  a  cordiality  which  made  me  feel  as 

[  191   I 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

though  he  and  I  had  been  fast  friends  for  years. 
He  explained  to  me  that  the  chief  reason  why- 
he  provided  lodging  accommodations  over  his 
store  at  such  low  rates  was  to  aid  struggling 
Syrian  immigrants,  such  as  I  was,  to  get  on 
their  feet.  He  explained  also  that  he  managed 
to  maintain  his  establishment  at  these  incredi- 
bly low  prices  by  dispensing  with  bedsteads, 
soap,  towels,  and  other  luxuries,  and  reducing 
the  lodging-house  business  to  the  absolute 
essentials.  And,  since  I  had  a  bed  (my  steamer 
bed),  he  thought  I  would  be  very  comfortable 
at  his  house. 

I  felt  somewhat  disquieted  because  of  the 
absence  of  soap  and  towels  at  the  new  lodging- 
house,  but  the  saving  of  ten  cents  a  night  was 
very  compelling.  It  seemed  to  me,  also,  that 
Moses'  cordiality  ought  to  be  properly  valued. 
Lodging  with  him  appeared  to  me  like  "per- 
sonally conducted''  travel.  Therefore  I  has- 
tened back  to  the  more  expensive  hostelry,  took 
up  my  bed  (tied  up  in  a  bundle),  and  left 
Abraham  and  went  to  Moses. 

[  192  ] 


IN  NEW  YORK  WITH  NINE  CENTS 

The  jovial  proprietor  of  the  five-cent  lodging- 
house  led  me  up  a  squeaky  stairway  in  the 
interior  of  his  store,  to  a  spacious  comer  off  the 
first  landing  in  which  stood  a  bare  board  plat- 
form, which  he  most  cordially  offered  to  me  as 
my  sleeping  quarters.  The  fact  that  the  location 
afforded  me  no  privacy  whatever  seemed  to 
Moses  to  be  an  advantage  rather  than  the 
reverse,  as  it  provided  me  with  an  abundance 
of  fresh  air.  I  need  not  fear  the  intrusion  of 
strangers,  Moses  remarked,  because  all  those 
who  went  up  and  down  the  stairs  were  our  own 
countrymen.  Nor  need  I  be  disturbed  by  the 
noise  which  the  peddlers,  who  came  in  to  buy 
goods  until  late  in  the  night,  made  in  the  store 
below,  because  I  must  be  fully  acquainted  with 
the  noisy  bargaining  of  the  Syrians.  Lastly,  in 
order  to  make  my  lot  more  acceptable  to  me, 
the  genial  Moses  added,  as  he  turned  to  go 
downstairs,  "If  you  should  desire  to  wash  in 
the  morning,  be  sure  to  let  me  know." 

Sustained  by  the  sense  of  honest  economy,  I 
spread  my  bed  on  the  platform  and,  after  cast- 

[  193   ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

ing  a  comprehensive  look  at  the  dingy  paper  on 
the  walls  and  at  an  indescribable  back  yard, 
which  I  could  see  reasonably  well  through  a 
small  dirt-streaked  window,  I  went  out,  pro- 
mising to  return  after  supper. 

On  my  return  in  the  early  evening  I  found 
that  two  other  boys  had  secured  lodging 
accommodations  on  Moses'  platform.  It  was 
wide  enough  for  three  persons,  such  as  we  were, 
under  peaceful  circumstances.  But  my  fellow 
lodgers  fell  into  a  serious  dispute  early  in  the 
evening,  over  a  charge  and  a  counter  charge  of 
stealing,  which  led  them  to  intermittent  fight- 
ing until  late  in  the  night.  As  a  fellow  country- 
man, and  desiring  to  win  the  blessing  promised 
to  the  peacemakers  and,  incidentally,  a  little 
much-needed  repose,  I  made  some  attempts  to 
restore  peace  between  them.  The  nature  of  the 
belligerents,  however,  was  such  as  to  convince 
me  that  the  vigorous  urging  of  my  arbitration 
measures  would  very  likely  cause  them  to  unite 
their  forces  and  attack  me. 

As  I  lay  awake  under  Moses'  roof  that  night 

[  194  ] 


IN  NEW  YORK  WITH  NINE  CENTS 

I  thought  of  all  the  good  things  I  had  ever 
enjoyed  in  my  life,  of  all  the  poetry  I  had 
learned,  of  the  pride  with  which  my  breast  had 
heaved  as  a  *' learned  man"  among  my  kindred. 
Now  I  was  in  the  New  World,  which  did  not 
seem  to  take  immediate  notice  of  my  worth, 
tucked  in  a  dingy  comer,  nay,  crucified  between 
two  thieves ! 

I  awoke  early  the  next  morning  with  a  raging 
headache  and  a  stiff  neck,  picked  up  my  bed, 
and  returned  to  Abraham.  Moses  was  very 
kind  and  reasonable  when  I  paid  him  my  night's 
lodging  and  told  him  that  I  felt  compelled 
to  seek  more  comfortable  quarters.  He  even 
pledged  himself  to  be  very  diligent  in  looking 
out  for  sdbie  suitable  employment  for  me  in  a 
Syrian  store ;  and  Moses  was  a  man  of  his  word. 
But  for  justice'  sake  I  must  not  leave  Moses' 
establishment  without  telling  the  whole  truth 
about  it.  The  reader  must  not  allow  himself  to 
imagine  that  the  only  lodging  accommodations 
that  tender-hearted  man  had  was  the  platform 
mentioned  above.    No;  Moses  had  tW'O  real 

[  I9S  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

rooms  whose  floors  were  covered  with  untacked 
and  rather  inexpensive  carpets,  and  which  he 
reserved  as  temporary  shehers  for  immigrant 
families,  a  room  for  a  family.  I  mention  this 
fact  not  only  to  do  justice  to  the  five-cent  lodg- 
ing-house, but  to  tell  the  reader  what  type 
of  immigrants  are  found  sometimes  in  such 
places.  On  one  occasion  I  called  at  this  lodging- 
house  to  see  a  family  of  five  —  the  mother, 
three  daughters,  and  two  sons,  with  one  of 
whom  I  was  very  well  acquainted.  It  was  a 
family  which  had  seen  better  days  in  the  Old 
World.  Both  the  sons  were  college  men;  the 
mother  and  the  daughters  were  also  partially 
educated.  The  father  had  been  a  successful 
business  man  until  certain  calamities  came  upon 
him  and  swept  away  all  that  he  had.  His  death 
shortly  followed,  and  left  his  family  destitute. 
At  last  the  fatherless  household  managed  in 
some  way  to  reach  the  New  World,  with  nothing 
but  hope  with  which  to  make  a  new  start  in  life. 
I  felt  not  only  sad  but  actually  guilty  when  I 
intruded  upon  the  privacy  of  such  misfortune. 
[  196  ] 


IN  NEW  YORK  WITH  NINE  CENTS 

The  downcast  face  of  the  mother,  as  she  sat  on 
that  crumpled  carpet  in  Moses'  lodging-house, 
and  the  sad,  appealing  glances  of  her  eyes,  which 
seemed  to  say,  "You  should  have  known  us 
in  our  better  days,"  still  haunt  my  conscience. 
Nevertheless  such  observations,  together  with 
my  own  trying  experiences  in  those  days,  have 
taught  me  to  contemplate  the  dwellers  of  tene- 
ment houses  with  a  greater  measure  of  respect 
than  I  could  otherwise  do.  Not  a  few  of  the 
noble  possibilities  of  future  America  lie  hidden 
in  those  dark,  musty,  shabby  dwellings,  await- 
ing the  call  of  this  country's  wondrous  oppor- 
tunities to  resurrect  them  to  the  newness  and 
glory  of  a  free  and  useful  life. 

The  Syrian  colony  in  New  York  consisted  in 
those  days  of  a  few  store-  and  restaurant- 
keepers,  a  multitude  of  peddlers  of  "jewelry 
and  notions,"  and  a  few  silk  merchants  who, 
although  they  peddled  their  wares,  bore  the 
more  dignified  designation  of  "silk-sellers." 
For  lack  of  better  pursuits,  college  men  often 
took  up  silk-selling  as  a  means  of  livelihood, 

. [   197  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

which  occupation,  however,  required  capital 
and  often  letters  of  introduction  to  the  well-to- 
do  American  families.  My  inquiries  for  some- 
thing to  do  precipitated  usually  the  following 
questions  from  the  older  colonists,  who  seemed 
to  me  to  be  steeped  in  wisdom :  — 

**Do  you  have  money  so  that  you  can  at 
least  buy  an  interest  in  a  store,  or  deal  in  silk?" 

"No,  I  have  no  money  at  all." 

"Do  you  have  letters  of  recommendation 
from  missionaries  in  Syria  to  persons  in  this 
country?" 

"No." 

"Can  you  speak  the  English  language?" 

"Not  so  that  I  can  be  understood." 

"How  old  are  you?" 

"Twenty-two." 

"Twenty-two!  Too  old  to  master  the  Eng- 
lish language.  The  only  thing  you  could  do, 
and  which  thousands  of  Syrians  are  doing, 
would  be  to  peddle  'jewelry  and  notions.'" 

Call  it  pride,  vanity,  or  whatever  you  please, 
whenever  I  thought  of  peddling  "jewelry  and 

[  198  ] 


IN  NEW  YORK  WITH  NINE   CENTS 

notions/'  death  lost  its  terror  for  me.  The  mere 
sight  of  those  crude,  greasy  peddlers  nauseated 
me.  Come  what  might,  I  would  not  carry  the 
keshah  (a  colloquial  Arabic  name  for  the 
peddler's  pack). 

The  period  of  painful  suspense,  which  seemed 
to  me  to  cover  a  whole  year,  lasted  in  reality 
only  twelve  days,  at  the  end  of  which  I  found 
employment.  During  those  twelve  days,  when 
not  searching  for  work,  I  spent  my  time  explor- 
ing New  York,  which  overshadowed  my  soul 
like  a  vast  mystery.  I  made  my  first  appear- 
ance on  Broadway  on  a  Monday  morning.  I 
shall  never  forget  the  almost  overwhelming 
impression  which  that  great  thoroughfare  made 
upon  my  mind.  The  amazingly  wide  sidewalks 
were  solid  streams  of  humanity.  Compared 
with  the  leisurely,  swaying  gait  of  Orientals, 
every  one  in  that  vast  multitude  seemed  to  be 
running.  How  limpid  and  how  quiet  that 
human  mass  appeared!  No  disputes  and  no 
demonstrative  bargainings  at  the  doors  of  those 
great  stores!   No  shouting,  "Ho!  your  back! 

[   199  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

your  side!"  as  in  Beyrout.  Almost  complete 
silence  prevailed,  and  the  stupendous  concourse 
of  men  and  women  moved  as  swiftly  and  grace- 
fully as  a  perfectly  adjusted  and  well-oiled 
machine. 

I  soon  realized  that  while  I  was  in,  I  w^as  not 
of,  New  York.  I  was  afraid  to  do  anything, 
even  to  walk  freely,  for  fear  of  jarring  the  har- 
mony of  the  surroundings.  The  memories  of 
the  Turkish  soldiery  which  haunted  my  soul 
made  me  fear  every  uniformed  man  I  saw.  I 
felt  instinctively  constrained  to  stand  at  atten- 
tion whenever  I  passed  a  policeman.  Men 
wearing  silk  hats  inspired  me  with  reverence. 
The  close  resemblance  of  this  type  of  hat  to  the 
headgear  of  the  Greek  priests  made  me  con- 
clude that  the  wearers  of  the  towering  head- 
dress were  all  preachers,  and  confirmed  in  my 
mind  what  I  had  heard  in  Syria  about  the 
profound  and  universal  religiousness  of  the 
American  people. 

Like  a  newly  bom  babe,  I  needed  to  be  com- 
pletely adjusted  to  the  new  environment.    In 

[    200    ] 


IN  NEW  YORK  WITH  NINE  CENTS 

fact,  it  was  neither  to  my  interest,  nor  to  that 
of  New  York,  for  me  to  act  freely  in  pubHc 
before  I  was  properly  trained.  I  remember 
very  clearly  when  I  went  out  to  post  my  first 
letter  in  the  great  metropolis.  I  was  directed 
by  wise  counselors  to  deposit  the  letter  in  a  red 
iron  box  fastened  to  a  post  on  the  sidewalk. 
Reaching  the  first  box  of  that  description,  I  took 
hold  of  a  shining  handle  and  gave  it  a  sharp 
turn.  It  was  the  fire  alarm.  An  alert  police- 
man, motioning  to  me  vigorously  with  his  club 
to  stop  turning  the  shining  handle,  ran  to  me, 
and,  leading  me  to  a  letter-box,  pointed  out 
with  some  earnestness  the  difference  between 
the  fire-alarm  box  and  the  receptacle  for  mis- 
sives. 

Another  strange  situation  confronted  me 
when  I  visited  the  office  of  a  New  York  busi- 
ness man,  on  the  third  day  after  my  arrival  in 
the  city.  One  of  my  companions  on  the  voyage 
had  a  letter  of  introduction  to  this  man  from 
a  friend  in  Egypt,  and  we  deemed  it  necessary 
that  the  three  of  us  should  visit  the  New  Yorker 

f    201    ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

and  present  the  message  to  him  in  a  body. 
Upon  coming  into  the  office  building  a  boy 
admitted  us  into  a  Httle  room  —  all  made  of 
iron  —  and  closed  the  door.  Seeing  no  open 
door  anywhere  in  that  room  I  suspected  some 
foul  play.  What !  have  I  come  to  the  great  New 
World  to  have  a  mere  boy  play  such  a  trick  on 
me?  As  I  was  about  to  seize  the  little  culprit 
and  demand  the  release  of  the  whole  party,  the 
entire  room,  floor  and  all,  began  to  ascend. 
Then  I  remembered  that  in  Suk-el-Gharb, 
Syria,  a  few  years  before,  one  of  the  mission- 
aries, while  delivering  an  illustrated  lecture 
before  our  school,  had  shown  us  the  picture  of 
a  New  York  building,  and  told  us  that  the 
Americans  have  such  means  of  vertical  trans- 
portation. 

Additional  impressions  of  New  York  which 
puzzled  my  unacclimated  brain  in  those  days 
I  find  in  the  fragments  of  a  correspondence  I 
had  with  a  friend  in  Syria,  and  which  was  in 
part  as  follows :  — 

"New  York  is  three  cities  on  top  of  one 

[    202    ] 


IN  NEW  YORK  WITH  NINE  CENTS 

another.  The  one  city  is  in  the  air  —  in  the 
elevated  railway  trains,  which  roar  overhead 
like  thunder,  and  in  the  amazingly  lofty  build- 
ings, the  windows  of  whose  upper  stories  look 
to  one  on  the  ground  only  a  little  bigger  than 
human  eyes.  I  cannot  think  of  those  living  so 
far  away  from  the  ground  as  being  human 
beings;  they  seem  to  me  more  like  the  ji7i7iee. 
The  second  city  is  on  the  ground  where  huge 
armies  of  men  and  women  live  and  move  and 
work.  The  third  is  underground,  where  I  find 
stores,  dwellings,  machine  shops,  and  railroad 
trains.  The  inside  of  the  earth  here  is  alive  with 
human  beings;  I  hope  they  will  go  upward 
when  they  die.  There  are  so  many  big  police- 
men who  don't  seem  to  be  doing  anything.  The 
women  walk  on  the  streets  freely,  dressed  like 
queens.  They  wear  very  thin  veils,  for  the  pur- 
pose, I  believe,  of  showing  rather  than  hiding 
their  beauty,  for  they  look  magical.  But  they 
don't  speak  to  anybody.  The  other  day,  while 
in  the  great  garden  called  Central  Park  with  a 
Syrian  friend,  we  needed  to  know  where  the 
[  203   1 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

animals  were  (the  Zoological  Garden),  and, 
seeing  a  lady  sitting  on  a  bench,  we  thought 
we  would  ask  her  to  direct  us.  After  our  more 
sociable  Oriental  custom  I  ventured  to  greet 
her,  with  a  *  Good-morning/  She  neither  an- 
swered nor  even  looked  at  me.  I  was  struck 
with  dumbness.  But  my  wiser  companion 
asked  her  where  the  animals  were  without  say- 
ing *  Good-morning,'  and  she  immediately 
pointed  us  in  the  right  direction.  They  have 
strange  ways  here.  And  you  never  saw  such 
drinking  of  intoxicants  as  there  is  in  this  city. 
We  Oriental  wine-drinkers  do  not  know  what 
real  efrenj  ^  drunkenness  is.  I  have  seen  even 
drunken  women  raving  in  the  streets,  but  I  am 
told  they  are  not  real  Americans,  not  of  those 
who  wear  the  magical  veils.  I  am  trying  to 
know  more  of  this  strange,  great  world  and  will 
write  more  about  it." 

During  my  days  of  enforced  and  painful 
idleness  in  New  York,  Battery  Park  was  my 
chief  resort.    I  would  spend  hours  on  those 

^  The  Orientals  call  all  Western  peoples  effrenj, 
[   204   ] 


IN  NEW  YORK  WITH  NINE   CENTS 

benches,  either  writing  poetry,  generally  of  a 
dolorous  kind,  or  studying  the  many  and  varied 
ships  which  plied  the  deep  before  me,  or  pictur- 
ing to  myself  the  greater  distress  which  I 
thought  awaited  me  when  my  five  dollars  was 
all  spent.  But  Battery  Park  stands  in  my 
memory  associated  with  much  holier  thoughts 
than  these,  for  it  was  there  that  a  spiritual 
vision  came  to  me  unique  in  my  experience.  It 
is,  I  believe,  chiefly  because  of  that  vision  that 
throughout  my  ministry  I  have  preached  with 
unshaken  faith  and  unreserved  devotion  the 
precept  that  "man's  extremity  is  God's  oppor- 
tunity." 

Feeling  deeply  depressed  and  disheartened, 
late  one  afternoon,  I  strolled  down  to  the 
famous  park.  The  sea  and  sky  were  very  beauti- 
ful, but  I  seemed  to  have  no  share  in  their 
beauty ;  I  appeared  to  myself  to  be  a  fugitive  in 
an  unfriendly  world.  I  sat  on  a  bench  and  cast 
a  vacant  look  on  the  world  before  me.  I  felt  very 
lonely,  and  longed,  as  a  babe,  for  my  mother. 
But  as  the  sun  began  to  fade  away  from  the 
[  205  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

sky,  I  began,  as  by  a  miracle,  to  feel  an  inward 
supply  of  power  and  courage.  The  beauty  of 
the  sea  and  sky  seemed  to  -have  been  made  for 
me ;  I  was  owner  of  all  that  I  saw.  I  seemed  to 
myself  for  the  moment  to  look  upon  the  world 
through  the  mystic  eyes  of  my  Oriental  ances- 
tors, and  see  it,  so  far  as  a  youth  could,  as  the 
garment  of  God.  Surely  the  Father  was  with 
me.  "Why  art  thou  cast  down,  0  my  soul,  and 
why  art  thou  disquieted  in  me.?  Hope  thou  in 
God.''  I  remember  with  perfect  clearness  that 
I  said  audibly,  "The  God  who  created  me  and 
these  wonders  before  me  will  never  forsake  me," 
and  arose  and  walked  like  a  strong  man. 

Now  you  have  the  privilege  of  explaining 
this  experience  as  "an  uprush  of  reserve  energy 
from  the  subconscious  realm,"  or  as  "nervous 
reaction,"  or  whatever  else  you  please.  What  / 
know  is  that  the  abiding  worth  of  an  experience 
ranks  higher  in  the  world  of  real  life  than  that 
of  any  philosophy  about  it.  From  that  day  to 
this,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  I  have  often 
stumbled  and  fallen,  doubt  in  God's  providence 
f  206  ] 


IN  NEW   YORK  WITH  NINE   CENTS 

has  never  secured  a  hold  upon  my  mind,  nor  do 
I  remember  that  I  have  ever  failed  to  trust  that 
He  is  mine  and  I  am  His.  In  my  extremity  in 
a  lonely  world,  without  Bible,  preacher,  priest, 
or  sacrament,  I  came  into  living,  first-hand  con- 
tact with  the  Eternal  Reality. 


CHAPTER  IX 

BOOKKEEPER  AND    EDITOR 

My  very  recent  friend,  Moses,  did  not  forget 
his  promise  to  be  on  the  lookout  for  a  position 
for  me  in  some  Syrian  store,  for  on  my  tenth 
day  in  New  York  he  sought  and  found  me  in 
Battery  Park,  and,  with  a  generous  smile,  told 
m^e  of  a  merchant  who  needed  a  katih,  —  book- 
keeper, —  and  Moses  thought  I  was  the  man 
for  the  place.  Realizing  that  I  had  never  had 
any  experience  in  bookkeeping,  he  instructed 
me  not  to  be  overconscientious  in  confessing 
my  ignorance,  for  he  was  certain  that  I  could 
do  all  the  bookkeeping  that  the  merchant 
needed.  The  customers  of  the  store  were  ped- 
dlers of  "jewelry  and  notions,"  who  did  business 
on  very  simple  lines,  and  almost  all  the  trans- 
actions were  carried  on  in  the  Arabic  language. 
If  at  long  intervals  some  orders  came  to  us  in 
El-Angleezy  (English)  Moses  promised  to  come 
and  help  me  fill  them  in  the  proper  manner. 
[  208  ] 


BOOKKEEPER   AND    EDITOR 

In  company  with  my  beneficent  friend  I  pro- 
ceeded to  No.  5  Carlisle  Street,  the  store  of 
Khawaja  Maron,  where  the  position  of  katib 
awaited  me.  Moses  introduced  me  to  the  pro- 
prietor as  "one  of  the  most  efficient  bookkeep- 
ers he  ever  knew/'  and  departed.  Maron  told 
me  that  the  salary  of  the  position  I  was  seeking 
was  twenty  dollars  per  month  and  that  I  would 
be  expected  to  perform  the  usual  duties  of  a 
katib,  I  accepted  the  offer  with  gladness  of 
heart,  promising  to  be  at  my  **desk''  at  seven 
o'clock  the  following  morning. 

Recalling  the  time  when  as  a  school-teacher 
in  Syria  my  salary  was  three  dollars  a  month 
and  my  board,  twenty  dollars  seemed  to  me  a 
species  of  **  frenzied  financiering."  I  had  always 
known  the  position  of  katib  to  be  most  condu- 
cive to  dignity  and  elegance,  and  an  excellent 
opportunity  for  advancement  in  the  commer- 
cial world;  therefore  I  had  every  reason  to 
imagine  that  my  new  position  at  5  Carlisle 
Street  was  the  gateway  to  riches  and  honor. 

Before  seven  the  next  morning  I  w^as  at  the 
[  209  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

store.  The  proprietor,  who  slept  in  a  room  in 
the  rear  end  of  the  building,  was  just  out  of  bed 
and  about  half-dressed.  -He  greeted  me  very 
pleasantly,  although  his  appearance  just  then, 
and  the  fact  that  he  slept  at  the  store,  cooled 
my  ardor  considerably.  After  lighting  a  cigar- 
ette, he  handed  me  twelve  cents,  explaining 
that  my  first  duties  in  the  morning  were  "to  go 
down  to  the  corner,"  buy  a  scuttleful  of  coal 
for  ten  cents,  a  bundle  of  kindling-wood  for  two 
cents,  carry  the  ashes  out  and  deposit  them 
carefully  In  the  barrel  on  the  sidewalk,  build  a 
fire  in  the  stove,  sweep  the  store  and  the  side- 
walk, see  that  the  boxes  of  goods  on  the  shelves 
were  in  proper  order,  and  then  take  up  my 
clerical  duties.  It  was  not  so  much  the  quantity 
as  the  quality  of  the  programme  that  pierced 
my  heart  with  many  sorrows.  Was  this  what  it 
meant  to  be  a  katib  ?  Was  this  what  I  had  come 
to  America  for?  Whatever  it  was,  necessit}^ 
was  laid  upon  me  to  humble  m.y  pride  and 
accept  the  situation.  Did  I  not  consent  to  the 
spirit  of  the  One  Hundred  and  Thirty-first 

[    2IO    ] 


BOOKKEEPER  AND   EDITOR 

Psalm,  my  first  scriptural  lesson  in  America, 
when  I  repeated  reverently,  "Lord,  my  heart  is 
not  haughty,  nor  mine  eyes  lofty''?  The  seem- 
ingly menial  tasks  of  my  new  office  came,  per- 
haps, to  test  the  sincerity  of  my  prayer. 

I  applied  myself  to  my  duties  as  katib  most 
conscientiously.  My  broom  searched  the  remot- 
est and  darkest  comers  of  the  store,  and,  as  it 
seemed  to  me,  made  the  sidewalk  in  front  of  it 
the  envy  of  our  neighbors.  The  boxes  of  **  jew- 
elry and  notions"  stood  on  our  shelves  in  as 
straight  lines  as  any  courses  of  stone  I  ever  laid 
as  a  stone-mason.  Even  Khawaja  Maron 
noticed  the  orderliness  and  cleanliness  of  the 
surroundings  and  pronounced  them  "excep- 
tionally good,''  and  I  was  really  proud  to  have 
it  knov/n  by  every  one  who  came  into  our  store 
that  it  was  I  who  put  the  establishment  in  such 
order. 

Our  store,  however,  was  put  to  other  uses 
not  strictly  commercial,  which  the  social  hab- 
its of  our  Syrian  customers  demanded.  On 
rainy  days  it  fell  to  me  to  entertain  groups 

[    211    ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

of  peddlers  who  sat  around  the  stove,  smoked 
cigarettes  of  **Navy  Tobacco/'  and  indulged 
themselves  in  their  simple  but  boisterous 
pleasures.  At  times  they  would  buy  a  wash- 
pitcherful  of  beer  and  drink  to  one  another's 
health  out  of  one  common  glass.  They  would 
offer  the  "learned  katib''  a  foaming  glass  of  the 
beverage,  which  was  invariably  refused. 

But  at  those  informal  social  gatherings 
around  Maron's  stove  more  significant  events 
occurred.  At  times  my  guests,  the  peddlers, 
would  ascend  to  the  consideration  of  rather 
weighty  subjects.  From  the  prosaic  counting  of 
the  combs,  pipes,  razors,  necklaces,  and  other 
commodities  which  each  of  them  had  sold  on  a 
certain  day,  they  would  rise  to  the  poetizing  of 
the  prowess  of  their  Syrian  feudal  lords  and  the 
miracles  of  their  saints.  "  Khawaja  Ibrahim," 
Dhieb  would  ask  me,  "which  is  the  greatest 
nation  in  the  world  .^'' 

"I  have  always  thought,"  I  would  answer, 
"that  England  was  the  greatest  nation,  but 
they  say  here  that  America  is  the  greatest." 

[    212    1 


BOOKKEEPER  AND   EDITOR 

"Of  course  you  will  say  that,"  said  Tannus. 
"because  you  are  'Brustant'  [Protestant]. 
France  is  the  greatest  nation.  The  French  pro- 
tected us  from  being  massacred  in  i860,  and 
what  have  your  England  and  America  done.^ 
May  Allah  save  the  fiery  French !  They  terror- 
ized the  hearts  of  the  Mohammedans  and  the 
Druses  when  the  army  of  Napoleon  came  into 
Syria."  Here  Maron,  just  to  please  me,  would 
speak  with  some  gravity  from  behind  the 
counter,  "You,  TannGs,  must  not  be  so  rude  as 
to  contradict  the  katih;  he  is  a  learned  man, 
while  you  are  but  an  untaught  commoner." 
That  was  always  enough  to  vanquish  my  oppo- 
nent, and  keep  the  integrity  of  my  "learning" 
unimpaired. 

j  Certainly  American  customs  did  not  escape 
serious  consideration  by  my  friends  the  ped- 
dlers. Almost  all  of  them  being  illiterate,  and 
having  no  access  whatever  to  real  American 
life,  their  discussions  of  it,  as  I  now  recall  them, 
were  most  interesting  exhibitions  of  human 
psychology.  The  universal  rule  that  the  un- 
[  213   ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

trained  mind  makes  the  most  sweeping  deduc- 
tions from  the  shghtest  contact  with  facts 
received  around  Maron's  stove  most  emphatic 
confirmation.  Some  of  those  simple-minded 
peddlers  of  "jewelry  and  notions"  had  suc- 
ceeded in  observing  that  domestic  and  social 
life  in  America  was  not  so  homogeneous  as  in 
Syria,  that  in  this  country  the  individual  was 
much  freer  and  much  more  sharply  defined. 
Consequently  nothing  remained  to  prevent  the 
conclusion  that  the  Americans  lived  a  life  of 
completely  detached  individualism.  Members 
of  the  same  household  lived  a  life  of  mutual 
exclusiveness.  "Hear,  and  I  will  tell  you,''  said 
Abdu,  especially  to  new  arrivals  from  Syria; 
"  in  this  country  the  husband  and  wife  live  each 
one  alone.  He  has  his  room  and  she  has  hers, 
and,  if  anything,  the  man  has  to  mind.  They 
say  that  he  has  to  knock  at  her  door  like  a 
stranger,  and  she  does  n't  have  to  let  him  inside 
if  it  does  n't  suit  her.  He  has  to  say  '  Shkooz 
me,'  which  means,  'Forgive  me'!" 

"  But  how  can  they  live  that  way  and  raise 
[  214  ] 


BOOKKEEPER  AND   EDITOR 

children?"  Anton  would  inquire.  ''Ya  Allah 
[O  God],  what  customs!  Give  me  Syria  and  its 
submissive  women.  Where  are  you  ^.  —  let  me 
tell  you,  our  country  knows  something.  Woman 
must  be  kept  in  obedience  or  she  would  lead 
man  to  all  sorts  of  trouble  as  Eve  led  Adam  in 
Eden.  I  say,  give  me  Syria,  the  mother  of  man- 
kind!" Then  some  genius  in  the  crowd  would 
do  human  nature  no  little  credit  by  remarking, 
with  a  vigorous  waving  of  the  hand,  "Get  out 
of  here!  Your  words  are  empty.  No  matter 
how  they  live,  the  Americans  look  clean  and 
well-fed,  and  we  are  dirty  and  hungry;  shorten 
your  speech  until  you  know  what  you  are  talk- 
ing about." 

On  one  occasion  Maron  offered  the  store  to 
one  of  his  customers  for  the  celebration  of  a 
genuine  Syrian  wedding.  The  offer  was  accepted 
and  our  commercial  establishment  resounded 
with  joy.  Other  than  Syrian  dwellers  of  the 
neighborhood  flocked  to  doors  and  windows 
and  feasted  their  souls  on  things  which  their 
eyes  had  never  before  seen  nor  their  ears  heard. 
[  215  ] 


/ 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

We  seated  the  bridegroom  (the  bride  was  in 
another  building)  in  the  place  of  honor  —  be- 
hind the  counter.  Beer  and  arak  flowed  like 
water.  The  men  sang  aataba  and  the  women 
zelaghet,  and  we  all  partook  of  a  bounteous  feast 
which  was  spread  on  benches,  cases,  and  chairs, 
while  the  straight  rows  of  boxes  of  "Fine 
Combs,"  "Collar  Buttons,"  "Baby  Rattles," 
and  so  forth,  looked  down  upon  us  from  the 
shelves  with  Occidental  serenity. 

My  salary  of  twenty  dollars  a  month  did  not 
prove  so  ample  for  my  every  need  as  I  had  at 
first  thought  it  would.  Only  by  the  strictest 
economizing  was  I  able  to  secure  food  and  shel- 
ter and  other  necessities  at  an  outlay  of  only 
fifty  cents  a  day,  which  left  me  but  five  dollars 
a  month  as  a  sinking-fund  with  which  to  pay 
my  debts  and  fortify  myself  against  accidents 
and  sickness.  I  had  only  two  suits  of  clothing, 
one  of  which  I  reserved  for  Sundays.  The  win- 
ter was  fast  approaching  and  I  had  no  adequate 
clothing  for  it.  I  envied  every  man  I  saw  wear- 
ing an  overcoat.  Being  already  forty-five  dol- 
[  216  1 


BOOKKEEPER   AND  EDITOR 

lars  in  debt,  I  resolved  that  I  would  borrow  no 
more  under  any  conditions.  Compared  with 
the  temperature  of  Syria,  the  cold  in  New  York 
was  as  much  of  a  revelation  to  me  as  the  sky- 
scrapers. How  to  keep  warm  out  of  doors  was 
a  question  which  I  could  not  safely  evade.  By 
the  advice  of  a  well-disposed  acquaintance  I 
bought  a  coarse,  heavy  shirt  which,  I  was  told, 
was  made  of  camel's  hair,  and  therefore  very 
warm.  I  was  glad  to  renew  my  acquaintance 
with  the  camel,  even  though  in  such  a  round- 
about way,  as  well  as  to  bear  some  resemblance 
to  John  the  Baptist ;  but  the  coarseness  of  the 
shirt  militated  strongly  against  all  my  ideas  of 
refinement.  It  was,  however,  my  chief  means 
of  defense  against  the  rigor  of  my  first  winter  in 
America,  my  memories  of  whose  blasts  remain 
keen  and  clear. 

Notwithstanding  my  humble  position  as 
katiby  I  was  not  long  in  New  York  before  I 
began  to  dream  dreams  and  see  visions.  How 
to  acquire  the  priceless  privilege  of  being  an 
American  citizen,  was  the  first  and  foremost 
[  217  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

question  in  my  mind.  I  was  told  that  I  did  not 
need  to  be  in  such  a  hurry  about  this  matter, 
but  I  thought  differently,  ^nd  on  November  i8, 
1 89 1,  not  quite  six  weeks  after  I  landed  at  EUis 
Island,  I  appeared  in  the  Court  of  Common 
Pleas  of  the  County  of  New  York,  accompanied 
by  an  interpreter,  and  asked  to  be  ''admitted 
into  American  citizenship."  My  heart  never 
thrilled  with  holier  emotion  than  when  I  as- 
sented to  the  oath  of  allegiance,  "  that  it  is  bona 
fide  my  intention  to  become  a  citizen  of  the 
United  States  and  to  renounce  forever  all 
allegiance  and  fidelity  to  any  foreign  Prince, 
Potentate,  State  or  Sovereignty,  and  particu- 
larly to  the  Sultan  of  Turkey  of  whom  I  am  a 
subject."  I  felt  such  an  inward  sense  of  relief 
and  exaltation  that  my  countryman,  the  inter- 
preter, appeared  to  me  to  be  an  alien.  It  seemed 
I  to  me  at  the  moment,  although  of  course  not  so 
clearly  as  it  does  now,  that  by  that  act  I  had 
forever  broken  the  shackles  which  had  bound 
me  and  my  forefathers  for  ages  to  the  chariots 
of  tyrants,  and  had  become  a  citizen  of  a  coun- 
[  218  1 


\4      2 
O      S 

^      I 


BOOKKEEPER  AND   EDITOR 

try  whose  chief  function  was  to  make  free, 
enhghtened,  useful  men. 
/I  soon  also  made  the  acquaintance  of  the 
few  college  men  in  the  Syrian  colony,  foremost 
among  whom  stood  Khawaja  Najib  Arbeely, 
the  Syrian  inspector  of  immigrants  at  Ellis 
Island,  who  examined  me  upon  my  arrival  in 
New  York.  Being  eager  to  enjoy  the  privileges 
which  in  the  Turkish  Empire  we  never  dared 
even  to  talk  about,  I  proposed  the  organizing 
of  a  society  whose  purpose  should  be  the  mutual 
benefit  of  its  own  members  and  the  advance- 
ment of  the  various  interests  of  the  Syrians  in 
general.  The  suggestion  met  with  favor  among 
the  leaders  of  thought  in  the  colony,  and  the 
** Syrian  Scientific  and  Ethical  Society"  was 
organized.  Mr.  Arbeely  was  elected  president 
and,  to  my  amazement  and  notwithstanding 
my  shirt  of  camel's  hair,  I  was  elected  vice- 
president.  It  is  never  an  easy  task  to  bind  a 
large  number  of  Syrians  together  in  any  enter- 
prise. The  oppression  under  which  they  have 
lived  for  ages  has  well-nigh  crushed  all  public 
[  219  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

spirit  and  initiative  out  of  them.  The  lifters 
being  the  very  few,  any  attempt  among  them 
at  collective  action  of  any  sort  is  beset  with 
grave  difficulties.  But  our  proudly  titled  society 
flourished  for  a  time  beyond  our  most  extrava- 
gant expectations.  My  deep  interest  in  it,  and 
in  what  I  thought  was  to  be  its  future,  made  me 
eager  to  serve  it  in  almost  any  capacity.  The 
subjects  of  our  debates  and  discussions  were 
large  and  various.  History,  philosophy,  the 
good  and  evil  of  immigration,  the  greatness  of 
the  United  States  of  America,  the  superiority 
of  the  Syrian  to  the  Irish  population  of  Wash- 
ington Street,  —  these  and  many  other  subjects 
called  forth  the  impassioned  eloquence  of  the 
orators  among  us,  who  spoke  with  perfect  confi- 
dence and  freedom,  and  often  regardless  of  the 
facts. 

It  was  very  interesting  and  gratifying  to  me 
to  observe  that  at  the  meetings  of  the  society 
discussions  of  American  life  occupied  a  much 
higher  level  of  thought  than  at  Maron's  store. 
The    response    of   the    enlightened    minority 

[    220    ] 


BOOKKEEPER   AND   EDITOR 

among  the  New  York  Syrians  to  the  challenge 
of  American  civilization,  while  by  no  means 
revolutionary,  was  encouraging.  Now  and  then 
gleams  of  a  new  light  shot  through  the  speeches 
of  those  who  had  touched  with  intelligent  sym- 
pathy the  borders  of  America's  higher  life,  and 
exerted  on  me  an  awakening  influence.  On  one 
occasion  a  speaker  undertook  to  portray  the 
superior  aspects  of  American  civilization.  He 
began  in  an  eloquent  manner  to  describe  the 
extent  and  the  material  achievements  of  the 
country  as  they  were  known  to  him.  He  called 
our  attention,  first  to  the  "wonders  of  New 
York,''  such  as  the  Brooklyn  Bridge,  the  sky- 
scrapers, the  department  stores,  the  news- 
papers, etc.  Then  he  gave  a  vivid  picture  of 
the  vast  railroad,  telegraph,  and  postal  sys- 
tems. From  that  he  proceeded  to  speak  in 
poetic  terms  of  the  schools  and  the  churches 
and  kindred  interests,  until  he  cam^e  to  his 
climax  whose  thrilling  effect  I  still  remember 
with  grateful  appreciation.  "Sirs,"  said  the 
orator,  "do  we  fully  appreciate  the  fact,  we 

[    221    ] 


J 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

who  have  come  from  the  land  of  oppression  and 
petty  aristocracies,  that  in  this  country  the 
humblest  man  is  called  *mister/  and  the  highest 
title  is  that  of  *  gentleman'?'' 

I  was  expected  to  make  an  "oration"  at  any 
time  and  on  any  subject.  Being  one  of  the  very 
few  in  the  society  who  could  speak  the  classical 
Arabic  in  extemporaneous  address,  I  was  looked 
upon  by  many  of  my  fellow  members  as  a  "  real 
orator,"  and  credited  with  such  a  wealth  of 
knowledge  as  would  have  dwarfed  the  resources 
of  a  Herbert  Spencer.  My  most  impassioned 
appeals  in  those  ** orations  "  were  for  the  stronger 
cohesion  of  the  Syrian  population  in  the  great 
city  in  which  we  lived,  and  the  endeavor  on  the 
part  of  our  people  to  adopt  the  noble  principles 
of  American  civilization,  of  which,  however,  I 
knew  nothing  at  the  time. 

The  headquarters  of  our  society  were  estab- 
lished at  Abraham's  restaurant.  He  and  his 
partner  Abu-Khalil  permitted  us  to  hold  our 
meetings  at  their  eating-place  on  condition 
that,  after  every  regular  session,  on  Wednesday 

[    222    ] 


BOOKKEEPER  AND  EDITOR 

evening,  those  of  the  members  who  were  really 
interested  in  the  welfare  of  the  society  should 
purchase  at  least  one  plate  each  of  a  spread  of 
Syrian  sweets,  such  as  wheat  starch  cooked  with 
grape  molasses,  rice  cooked  in  milk  and  sugar, 
and  other  dainties,  which  Abu-Khalil  served 
with  incredible  promptness  after  it  had  been 
**moved  and  seconded  to  adjourn/'  Abu- 
Khalil's  anxiety  to  "do  business"  during  the 
sessions  greatly  interfered  at  times  with  the 
proceedings.  His  customers  came  in  at  all  hours, 
until  late  in  the  evening,  and  they  had,  of  course, 
to  be  served.  \  While  our  orators  were  toiling 
to  round  out  their  telling  periods,  Abu-Khalil 
would  sit  behind  the  counter  smoking  his 
narghile.  Utterly  unmindful  of  the  significance, 
at  least  to  the  speaker,  of  an  approaching  cli- 
max, he  would  interrupt  at  the  most  critical 
moment  by  shouting  orders  into  the  kitchen. 
I  particularly  recall  one  meeting  of  the  society 
at  which  Abu-KhaliFs  interruption  was  per- 
fectly shocking.  The  subject  of  the  principal 
speaker  was  "The  Glory  of  Ancient  Syria,"  and 
[  223   ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

his  purpose  was  to  prove  that  that  country, 
which  is  now  oppressed  and  unproductive,  had 
given  the  world  many  of  hs  most  precious  pos^ 
sessions.  **Our  Phoenician  ancestors,"  declared 
the  speaker,  "invented  the  alphabet,  manufac- 
tured glass,  carried  on  a  vast  commerce  with 
Egypt,  and  planted  colonies  on  the  western 
shores  of  the  Mediterranean.  Our  Arabian  an- 
cestors invented  algebra,  developed  the  sci- 
ence of  medicine  and  chemistry,  and  excelled 
the  world  in  poetry.  On  the  looms  of  our  Sidon 
and  Tyre  were  woven  the  purples  of  the  Roman 
Caesars,  and  it  was  in  our  country  that  the 
crowning  glory  of  all  human  possessions  ''  — 
Abu-Khalil  into  the  kitchen,  "One  dish  of 
stuffed  squash  for  Khawaja  Abdu-AUah,  and 
one  grape  molasses  for  Khaw^aja  Toufeek."  — 
The  speaker,  "the  Bible,  the  Word  of  God,  was 
revealed!"  That  seemed  to  the  rank  and  file  of 
our  members,  not  only  an  annoying  interrup- 
tion, but  downright  sacrilege.  Abu-Khalil, 
however,  was  not  an  impious  man,  and  no  one 
could  justly  suspect  that  he  did  not  say  his 
[  224  ] 


^'^^.  -  a 


't  o 


BOOKKEEPER  AND   EDITOR 

prayers  daily  before  going  to  bed.  His  disturb- 
ing conduct  during  some  of  our  meetings  was 
simply  the  result  of  mental  specialization  in 
business  during  waking  hours.  When  we,  the 
officers  of  the  society,  came  to  remonstrate  with 
him  upon  the  matter,  he  gave  us  a  very  sim- 
ple, direct,  and  manly  answer.  He  said,  "You 
ulama  [learned  men]  are  after  science  and  phil- 
osophy, but  my  business  is  to  sell  matbukhat 
[cooked  goods]."  God  and  Mammon  could  not 
be  served  together.  "The  Syrian  Scientific  and 
Ethical  Society"  was  driven  out  of  Abraham's  -  o  c-^^ 
restaurant,  and,  after  some  wandering  and  vain  v,  e  ^'a 
searching  for  a  suitable  shelter,  perished. 

While  the  untimely  death  of  our  society  was 
a  severe  disappointment  to  me  as  one  deeply 
interested  in  the  welfare  of  the  Syrian  colony, 
individually  I  had  every  reason  to  be  grateful 
for  the  results  of  my  activities  in  it  during 
its  brief  existence.  I  won  the  confidence  and 
respect  of  my  countrymen,  which  seemed  to 
raise  the  level  of  m.y  life  and  make  me  forget 
for  the  tim.e  being  that  I  was  a  poor  youth 

[    22s     1 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

clothed  in  garments  of  cameFs  hair.  After 
hearing  my  first  "oration"  at  one  of  the  meet- 
ings, my  employer,  Maron,  was  so  favorably 
impressed  that  on  the  next  morning  he  informed 
me  that  he  had  added  five  dollars  to  my  salary, 
declaring  with  childlike  sincerity  that  he  had 
never  imagined  that  his  katib  was  so  *' learned." 
His  breast  heaved  with  pride  when  many  of  our 
countrymen  besought  me  to  write  letters  for 
them  to  their  feudal  lords  in  Syria,  "in  my 
profound  classical  Arabic."  A  month  later  he 
added  another  five  dollars  to  my  salary,  pro- 
mising, also,  to  give  me  a  share  in  the  business 
if  I  would  agree  to  stay  with  him  permanently. 
Friend  Maron  further  concluded  that  I  was  too 
good  to  sweep  the  store,  which  duty  he  assigned 
to  a  peddler  who  lodged  in  the  back  room  in  the 
building. 
[_A11  that  was,  indeed,  glory  and  honor,  and 
some  money  for  me.  But  after  having  spent 
three  months  with  Maron  I  discovered  unmis- 
takably that  I  was  not  made  for  a  commercial 
career.  I  never  could  remicmber  the  prices  of 
[  226  1 


BOOKKEEPER   AND   EDITOR 

things  from  one  day  to  another,  while  it  was  no 
effort  at  all  for  me  to  commit  to  memory  a  score 
of  lines  of  poetry  by  reading  them  only  two  or 
three  times.  To  listen  to  those  peddlers  talk 
with  gushing  enthusiasm  and  satisfaction  about 
how  much  money  they  had  made  on  their  trips, 
was  really  painful  to  me.  Being  in  business  for 
the  sole  purpose  of  making  money  appealed  to 
me  very  faintly,  even  in  my  poverty.  The  ideal 
side  of  life  gripped  mightily  at  the  strings  of  my 
heart.  There  was  no  idealism  in  the  selling  of 
hair-brushes,  pipes,  cuff-buttons,  and  the  like, 
therefore  I  did  not  deem  it  the  proper  occupa- 
tion for  me. 

While  in  such  a  frame  of  mind  I  was  most 
naturally  eager  to  accept  another  position 
which  was  offered  to  me  early  in  the  spring,  and 
which  seemed  to  me  to  combine  both  the  com- 
mercial and  the  ideal  aspects  of  life.  About  that 
time  Mr.  Arbeely,  the  president  of  our  Scien- 
tific and  Ethical  Society,  began  the  publication 
of  "Kowkab  America"  (the  "Star  of  America''), 
the  first  Arabic  nev/spaper  ever  published  in  the 
[  227  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

Western  hemisphere,  and  offered  me  the  posi- 
tion of  Hterary  editor.  He  stated  that  my 
utterances  in  classical  Arabic  at  the  meetings  of 
the  society,  and  the  pubUc  spirit  which  per- 
meated them,  convinced  him  that  I  was  the 
man  for  such  a  position,  and  he  hoped  I  might 
accept  it. 

With  difficuhy  I  restrained  myself  from 
shouting  for  joy.  Was  it  possible  that  I  was  to 
occupy  the  commanding  position  of  an  editor, 
to  become  the  fashioner  of  public  opinion,  so 
soon  after  my  arrival  in  America?  Certainly 
the  supreme  opportunity  of  my  life  had  come ; 
the  open  road  to  the  realization  of  my  hopes 
and  ideals  was  now  before  me.  My  salary  was 
to  be  the  same  at  the  start  as  that  which  I  had 
been  getting  as  katih,  with  the  promise  of  a  sub- 
stantial increase  in  the  not  very  far  future.  I 
was  to  be  provided  with  comfortable  lodging 
accommodations  in  the  office  building  on  Pearl 
Street,  and  to  have  exclusive  quarters,  all  my 
own,  as  the  editor,  from  whom  much  was 
expected.  Desirable  as  a  larger  income  was,  it 
f  228  ] 


BOOKKEEPER  AND   EDITOR 

appeared  to  me  to  be  only  a  minor  matter.  The 
dreaming  idealist  in  me  had  the  upper  hand  of 
the  prudent  and  practical  commercialist. 

The  office  of  editor  offered  imperishable  re- 
wards. It  meant  intellectual  expansion,  moral 
and  social  victories,  leadership  of  public  opin- 
ion, and,  in  this  case,  perhaps  the  inauguration 
of  a  political  movement  in  free  America,  which 
might  at  least  mitigate  the  tyranny  of  the  "un-  ^ 
speakable  Turk  "  in  our  mother  country.  Last, 
but  not  least,  was  it  not  very  probable  that  by 
virtue  of  my  position  as  editor  I  would  in  due 
time  be  admitted  to  the  circle  of  editors  of  the 
great  New  York  dailies,  and  thus  come  in  close 
touch  with  the  highest  and  best  in  the  life  of 
America  ? 

"Dreams  are  true  while  they  last,  and  do  we) 
not  live  in  dreams?"  Woe  to  that  youth  who 
does  not  dream  on  a  large  scale.  My  expecta- 
tions were  not  only  laudable  but  commendable. 
I  accepted  Mr.  Arbeely's  offer  the  very  day 
after  it  was  made,  promising  to  take  up  my 
duties  in  about  two  weeks. 
[  229  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

My  exalted  opinion  of  the  office  of  editor  and 
its  social  requirements  made  me  shed  my 
camel's-hair  shirt  and  buy  a  real  white  stiff- 
bosomed  American  shirt,  a  turn-down  collar, 
and  a  four-in-hand  necktie,  ready  tied.  That 
was  as  far  as  I  could  go  in  acquiring  suitable 
wearing  apparel  for  my  new  office,  and  it  really 
seemed  to  me  a  big  step  forward  in  my  social 
evolution.  During  my  career  as  katib  I  had 
shared  a  bed  with  another  man  in  a  Syrian 
lodging-house,  at  an  expense  of  fifteen  cents  a 
night  for  both  of  us.  Our  room  was  possessed 
of  a  peculiar  type  of  odor,  which  neither  my  bed- 
fellow nor  I  knew  how  to  modify.  When  I  ac- 
cepted the  new  position  it  did  not  seem  to  me 
that  that  room  was  the  most  suitable  lodging 
for  the  editor  of  the  first  Arabic  newspaper  ever 
published  in  the  Western  hemisphere,  even  for 
the  two  weeks,  at  the  end  of  which  I  was  to  en- 
joy the  comforts  of  a  more  desirable  environ- 
ment. I  dissolved  partnership  with  my  bedfel- 
low immediately  and  in  a  businesslike  manner, 
leaving  to  him  all  the  bedding  I  had  brought 
[  230  ] 


BOOKKEEPER  AND   EDITOR 

with  me  from  Syria,  which  had  increased  rather 
than  decreased  by  use. 

Our  newspaper  office  force  consisted  of  Najib 
Arbeely,  the  proprietor,  a  Damascene;  Habib 
Patrekian,  the  pubHsher,  an  Armenian ;  Yusuf 
Hajj,  the  compositor,  a  Beyroutine;  and  my- 
self. Our  joumaHstic  enterprise  began  most 
auspiciously.  Its  advent  was  celebrated  at 
headquarters  by  a  large  company  of  Syrians  and 
a  few  Americans,  largely  reporters.  The  rooms, 
which  the  artful  proprietor  decorated  with  rich 
Oriental  draperies,  were  packed  with  happy 
guests,  and  eloquence  flowed  no  less  copiously 
than  beer  and  arak.  The  New  York  papers  gave 
generous  accounts  of  our  undertaking,  and  the 
warm  congratulations  of  educators,  poets,  and 
prelates  poured  upon  us  from  all  over  Syria. 

I  was  decidedly  proud  when,  upon  my  arrival 
at  the  office  to  assume  my  editorial  duties,  I 
read  on  the  door  of  a  small  room,  "The  Edi- 
tor's Room.  No  Admittance."  That  was  a  jus- 
tifiable and  stimulating  exclusiveness,  which 
seemed  to  me  to  mark  the  beginning  of  a  splen- 
[  231   ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

did  career.  Soon  after  my  arrival  at  the  office, 
the  pubhsher  presented  me  with  a  pack  of 
gilded  visiting-cards  bearing  the  proud  designa- 
tion of  my  office,  in  both  the  Arabic  and  the 
English,  as  follows  — 


(y^4^d€l/K^, 

Arabic  Editor 

of 

''Kowliah  America,** 

My  further  acquaintance  with  the  headquar- 
ters, however,  tended  to  weaken  my  confidence, 
that  I  was  connected  with  a  great  enterprise.; 
Our  offices  occupied  a  small  apartment,  ap- 
parently intended  originally  for  light  house- 
keeping. It  consisted  of  three  rooms  and  a 
"kitchenette.''  The  proprietor  and  the  publisher 
slept  in  the  main  office,  in  folding  beds  which 
were  disguised  in  the  daytime  to  appear  as 
something  else.  The  compositor  slept  among  his 
[  232  ] 


BOOKKEEPER   AND   EDITOR 

type-cases,  Mr.  Arbeely's  brother  in  the  kitchen- 
ette, and  I  in  my  "editor's  room."  Before  many 
weeks  the  compositor  rebelled  against  sleeping 
in  the  "t^^pe-room,"  where  the  smell  of  ben- 
zine, oil,  and  paper  threatened  his  health.  By 
the  direction  of  the  proprietor  he  moved  his 
bed  into  my  room  "temporarily."  Soon  after, 
the  brother  of  the  "boss"  discovered  that  it  was 
utterly  impossible  for  him  to  secure  sufficient 
rest  in  the  kitchenette,  which  was  the  wash- 
room for  all  the  office  force,  and  wondered 
whether  he  could  not  be  accommodated  "for 
the  present"  in  the  editor's  room.  It  was  de- 
cided by  his  brother  that  he  could.  The  three 
cots  which  beset  my  desk  behind  and  before, 
with  their  complements  of  clothing  and  shoes, 
were  hardly  conducive  to  lofty  flights  of  liter- 
ary genius.  But  that  was  not  all.  The  proprie- 
tor's other  brother,  who  was  a  physician,  would 
often  bring  his  "special  patients"  into  my  room 
for  examination,  and  request  me  to  "kindly  go 
into  the  other  room  for  a  few  minutes." 

It  soon  developed  also  that  my  duties  as 
[  233   ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

editor  had  been  intended  by  the  proprietor  to 
be  as  multifarious  as  were  my  duties  as  katib, 
I  was  required  to  keep  the  accounts,  to  look 
after  the  list  of  subscribers,  attend  to  a  large  part 
of  the  business  correspondence,  solicit  adver- 
tisements, do  the  work  of  a  reporter,  and  even 
help  fold  the  papers  and  prepare  them  for  the 
mail,  besides  editing  every  item  which  went 
into  the  paper. 

In  these  rather  distressing  circumstances  a 
philosophical  turn  of  mind  came  to  my  rescue. 
I  tried  to  read  the  gospel  of  my  destiny  in  the 
light  of  the  years,  and  not  the  days  and  months, 
and  to  look  upon  the  present  difficulties  as 
merely  transient.  Our  enterprise  was  in  its  in- 
fancy, and  as  a  healthy  infant  its  potentiali- 
ties were  great.  The  path  of  success  and  glory 
most  often  traverses  swamps  and  deserts,  and 
those  who  have  the  vision  of  ultimate  triumph 
must  learn  to  endure  hardships  as  true  soldiers. 
I  thought  of  what  the  proprietor  had  often  told 
me  of  the  poverty  and  hard  struggles  of  some 
great  American  editors  at  the  beginning  of  their 
[  234  ] 


BOOKKEEPER  AND   EDITOR 

careers,  and  often  quoted  to  myself  the  great 
saying  of  Mohammed,  "Heaven  is  under  the 
shadow  of  swords!"  Furthermore,  by  being 
obHged  to  translate  the  general  news  from  the 
American  newspapers,  under  the  supervision 
of  the  proprietor  and  by  the  constant  aid  of  the 
dictionary,  I  was  acquiring  a  vtry  serviceable 
English  vocabulary. 

With  such  means  of  consolation  in  mind  I  ad- 
dressed myself  to  my  task,  for  a  whole  year, 
with  unreserved  devotion  and  with  the  deter- 
mination of  a  man  who  was  bound  to  succeed. 
No  Horace  Greeley  ever  wrote  editorials  with 
a  clearer  sense  of  his  own  infallibility  than  I  did 
in  the  "Kowkab."  My  objective  was  no  less 
than  to  be  the  disinterested  reformer  of  my 
people,  to  whom  I  directed  a  series  of  editorials, 
brimful  of  fatherly  advice. 

I  counted  it  a  great  honor  also  when  I  was 
sent  to  interview  Dr.  Charles  Briggs,  professor 
at  Union  Theological  Seminary,  when  he  was 
being  tried  for  heresy  by  the  New  York  Pres- 
bytery. By  the  aid  of  an  interpreter  I  ventured 
[  235  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

to  ask  Dr.  Briggs  whether  he  still  believed  in 
Christ.  The  Professor  smiled  quizzically  and 
answered  me  with  a  quotation  from  the  First 
Epistle  of  John : '  '*  And  the  blood  of  Jesus  Christ 
his  Son  cleanseth  us  from  all  sin/"  The  inter- 
view was  "satisfactory,"  but  I  still  entertain 
the  suspicion  that  Dr.  Briggs,  inwardly,  treated 
my  pretentious  visit  to  him  as  a  joke. 

In  the  autumn  of  1892,  when  Mr.  Cleveland 
was  elected  President  for  the  second  time,  I 
first  made  the  acquaintance  of  American  poli- 
tics. The  fact  that  that  acquaintance  was  very 
slight  did  not  prevent  me,  as  an  editor  and  a 
youth,  from  making  broad  claims  to  knowledge 
of  statecraft.  But  how  I  first  became  a  Republi- 
can remains  to  me  a  blank  mystery.  In  so  far 
as  I  can  remember  I  simply  woke  up  to  the  un- 
accountable fact  that  I  was  an  adherent  of  the 
"Grand  Old  Party."  And  I  do  not  believe  that  I 
am  the  only  Republican  who  is  at  a  loss  to  know 
the  incentive  which  first  led  him  to  wear  the 
insignia  of  his  party.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  I 
am  a  Republican  still,  but  with  ample  discre- 
[  236  ] 


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LOCAL  NEWS. 


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KOWKAB    AMERICA 
The  first  Arabic  newspaper  in  the  Western  Hemisphere 


BOOKKEEPER  AND   EDITOR 

tionary  power.  On  the  night  of  the  election 
mentioned  above  I  joined  an  immense  crowd 
of  New  Yorkers  who  assembled  in  front  of  the 
buildings  of  the  great  daily  papers  "to  watch 
the  returns/'  Here  again  I  was  happily  amazed 
at  the  orderliness  of  the  stupendous  gathering  of 
people,  which  seemed  to  me  a  glorious  vindica- 
tion of  liberty.  The  comical  expressions,  the 
good-natured  jeers  and  shouts  of  triumph,  and 
the  dignified  acceptance  of  defeat  were  to  me 
a  feast  of  reason. 

Hanging  from  the  uppermost  story  of  the 
home  of  one  of  the  newspapers  were  two  lad- 
ders of  equal  length,  the  rounds  of  each  of  which 
represented  the  exact  number  of  States  then 
in  the  Union.  Immediately  beneath  the  one 
ladder  stood  an  image  of  Mr.  Harrison,  and  be- 
neath the  other  an  image  of  Mr.  Cleveland. 
For  every  State  vote  won  by  either  candidate 
his  image  was  removed  one  round  higher.  With 
great  apprehension  I  watched  the  upward  prog- 
ress of  the  Cleveland  image,  and  when  it  ap- 
proached the  top  of  the  ladder  I  concluded  that 
[  237  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

the  country  was  doomed.  What  the  issues  of  the 
campaign  were  I  had  no  clear  idea ;  I  had  only 
learned  from  Republican-  sources  that  great 
national  calamities  were  sure  to  follow  a  Demo- 
cratic victory,  and  I  believed  the  prophecy. 
When  the  returns  of  the  election  showed  a 
Cleveland  victory,  I  thought  to  myself  that  the 
American  people  must  have  committed  some 
grievous  sin  for  which  that  victory  was  the 
punishment. 

But  on  the  next  day  after  the  election  an 
American  young  man,  who  happened  to  come 
into  my  office,  undertook  to  explain  to  me  that 
the  cause  of  Harrison's  defeat  was  not  so  myste- 
rious as  I  had  thought.  However,  my  visitor's 
ideas  were  expressed  in  such  profound  and  fault- 
less English  that  I  could  understand  but  very 
little  of  what  he  said.  At  short  intervals  he 
would  say,  "Yes,  sir,  Harrison  was  beaten  be- 
cause he  is  in  the  hands  of  the  monopolists,  who 
grab  the  people's  money  and  put  it  in  their  own 
pockets."  The  frequent  reiteration  of  this  sen- 
tence enabled  me  to  apprehend  in  a  general  way 
[  238  ] 


BOOKKEEPER  AND   EDITOR 

what  it  meant,  but  I  had  not  the  sKghtest  know- 
ledge either  of  the  form  or  substance  of  the  word 
"monopoHsts."  However,  I  knew  at  the  time 
that  there  was  a  city  in  America  called  Minne- 
apolis, and,  therefore,  concluded  that  the 
Minneapolists  were  the  highway  robbers  my 
visitor  was  talking  about.  I  have  long  ago  made 
a  sincere  and,  I  believe,  sufficient  inward  apol- 
ogy to  the  citizens  of  the  great  city  of  the  North- 
west. 

Unintelligent  and  superficial  though  it  was, 
my  interest  in  the  political  campaign  of  1892 
had  an  enlarging  effect  upon  me.  It  was  my 
first  great  incentive  to  ask  questions  about  and 
to  idealize  the  possibilities  of  American  citizen- 
ship. Again  I  was  moved  with  stronger  convic- 
tion than  ever  to  renew  my  appeals  in  the 
"Kowkab"  to  my  fellow  Syrians  to  drink  the 
nobler  spirit  and  adopt  the  customs  of  free 
America. 

Contrary,  however,  to  my  most  confident 
expectations,  the  proprietor  looked  upon  my 
policy  with  disfavor.  He  contended  that  my 
[  239  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

bugle-calls  to  the  Syrians  to  follow  the  path  of 
American  civilization  were  bound  to  arouse  the 
suspicion  of  the  Turkish  authorities.  The  "  Kow- 
kab/'  he  said,  was  meant  to  be  loyal  to  the  Sul- 
tan, if  for  no  other  reason,  because  the  majority 
of  its  subscribers  were  residents  of  Turkey.  If 
Abdul  Hamid  should  for  any  reason  stop  the 
circulation  of  the  paper  in  his  empire  our  whole 
enterprise  must  cease  to  be.  The  publisher  also 
protested  against  any  show  of  antagonism  to 
Turkey  in  our  columns,  chiefly  because  his 
brother  held  office  in  one  of  the  Turkish  prov- 
inces, and  he  had  written  to  our  office  that  the 
least  manifestation  of  disloyalty  on  our  part 
might  cost  him  not  only  his  office,  but  his  lib- 
erty as  a  citizen.  That  was  a  severe  disappoint- 
ment to  me.  The  hand  of  the  Turk  was  still 
heavy  upon  me,  even  on  Pearl  Street,  New 
York. 

Apparently  the  course  of  my  destiny  lay  in 

another  direction  than  that  of  journalism.  The 

"Kowkab"  did  not  make  the  forward  strides 

I  had  expected  it  would.    My  task  as  editor 

[  240  ] 


BOOKKEEPER  AND   EDITOR 

grew  harder  at  the  end  of  the  year  and  less  digni- 
fied, rather  than  the  reverse.  Serious  differences 
occurred  between  the  proprietor  and  the  pub- 
Hsher,  which  led  them  one  evening  to  a  fist  fight. 
Discord  ruled  our  oflSce,  and  I  concluded  to  seek 
new  pastures  outside  New  York.  By  exercising 
strict  economy  I  had  succeeded  in  paying  my 
debts  and  buying  an  overcoat  (at  a  fire-sale) 
and  a  new  suit  of  clothes.  Othemise  I  was 
penniless. 


CHAPTER  X 

OUT  FROM   MY   KINDRED 

It  should  be  borne  in  mind,  however,  that  my 
decision  to  depart  from  New  York  ahogether 
was  only  in  a  small  part  the  result  of  my  dissat- 
isfaction with  my  lot  as  editor.  The  real  cause 
lay  much  deeper.  The  Syrian  colony  in  New 
York  seemed  to  me  to  be  simply  Syria  on  a 
smaller  scale.  During  my  stay  of  nearly  eight- 
een months  in  it  I  did  not  have  occasion  to 
speak  ten  sentences  in  English.  We  ate  the 
same  dishes,  spoke  the  same  language,  told  the 
same  stories,  indulged  in  the  same  pleasures, 
and  were  torn  by  the  same  feuds,  as  those  that 
had  filled  our  lives  on  the  Eastern  shores  of  the 
Mediterranean.  I  seemed  to  be  almost  as  far 
from  the  real  life  of  America  as  if  I  had  been  liv- 
ing in  Beyrout  or  Tripoli.  The  only  glimpses  I 
had  of  the  higher  life  of  this  country  came  to  me 
through  the  very  few  enlightened  Syrians  who 
mingled  extensively  with  the  better  class  of 

[   242  ] 


OUT   FROM   MY   KINDRED 

Americans,  and  who  only  occasionally  visited 
our  colony. 

The  sum  total  of  my  year-and-a-half  s  ex- 
perience in  New  York  convinced  me  that  it  was 
most  difficult,  if  not  impossible,  for  a  foreigner 
to  become  really  Americanized  while  living  in  a 
colony  of  his  own  kinsmen.  Just  as  the  birth  of 
a  new  species  can  never  take  place  without  a 
radical  break  with  the  parent  stock,  so  the 
thorough  transformation  of  a  foreigner  into 
an  American  can  never  be  accomplished  with- 
out the  complete  departure,  inwardly  and 
outwardly,  of  that  individual  from  his  kin- 
dred. 

The  Syrian  colony  in  New  York  rendered  me 
all  the  service  it  could  by  providing  me  with  a 
home  for  about  eighteen  months  among  those 
whose  language  was  my  language  and  whose 
habits  were  my  habits.  Its  Oriental  atmosphere 
with  its  slight  Occidental  tinge  protected  me 
from  the  dangers  of  an  abrupt  transition.  Had 
I  been  thrust  into  American  society  upon  my 
arrival  in  this  country,  penniless  and  without 
[  243   ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

serviceable  knowledge  of  the  English  language, 
the  change  in  environment  might  have  proved 
too  violent  for  me  to  endure  with  any  comfort. 
To  me  the  colony  was  a  habitat  so  much  like 
the  one  I  had  left  behind  me  in  Syria  that  its 
home  atmosphere  enabled  me  to  maintain  a 
firm  hold  on  life  in  the  face  of  the  many  diffi- 
culties which  confronted  me  in  those  days,  and 
just  different  enough  to  awaken  my  curiosity  to 
know  more  about  the  surrounding  American 
influences. 

<  The  "gregarious  habits"  of  foreigners  in  this 
country  are  deplored  by  those  who  have  the 
welfare  of  both  the  foreigner  and  America  at 
heart.  It  is  evident  to  such  well-wishers  that 
the  congregating  of  aliens  together,  especially 
in  the  large  cities,  tends  to  encourage  in  them 
the  naturally  strong  desire  to  cling  to  their 
inherited  modes  of  thought  and  life,  and  to  make 
the  task  of  Americanizing  them  doubly  difficult. 
This  inference  is  substantially  correct.  Never- 
theless the  fact  remains  that,  but  for  these  "gre- 
garious habits,"  a  multitude  of  the  less  aggres- 
[  244  ] 


OUT   FROM   MY   KINDRED 

sive  foreigners,  by  being  scattered  prematurely 
among  an  alien  population,  would  very  likely 
lose  their  bearings,  suffer  disheartening  lone- 
liness and  dejection,  and  become  public  charges. 
The  law  of  the  "survival  of  the  fittest''  rules 
in  those  "foreign  colonies"  in  American  cities, 
just  as  it  does  everywhere  else.  The  multitude 
of  "commoners"  furnish  the  conditions  neces- 
sary to  produce  the  small  minority  of  eager,  ag- 
gressive idealists,  whose  restless  spirits  soon 
break  through  the  barriers  of  inherited  customs 
and  respond  with  avidity  to  the  challenges  of 
a  higher  civilization.  To  such  the  word  America 
soon  takes  the  form  of  Opportunity,  and  is 
understood  in  terms  of  incentive  and  room  for 
soul  expansion.  The  loose  composition  of  a  pop- 
ulation of  many  and  mutually  exclusive  nation- 
alities, the  grotesque  manners,  and  the  multi- 
tude of  saloons  and  other  haunts  of  vice  and 
crime  in  the  "lower  regions"  of  American  cities, 
where  the  foreign  colonies  are  generally  located, 
soon  tend  to  awaken  in  the  mind  of  that  for- 
eigner, who  finds  himself  yearning  for  a  better 

[  245  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

order  of  things,  the  significant  question,  Where 
is  America  ? 

I  often  asked  myself,  in  those  days,  where 
and  how  do  the  real  Americans  live  ?  Who  are 
the  people  who  foster  and  maintain  that  Ameri- 
can civilization  of  which  I  hear  so  much,  but 
which  I  have  not  yet  known?  I  have  seen  a 
multitude  of  Irish,  Italians,  Poles,  Russians, 
Chinese,  and  other  human  elements  which  make 
up  the  community  in  which  I  am  living,  but 
where  are  the  Americans  ?  It  seemed  to  me  that 
in  a  cosmopolitan  city  like  New  York  it  was 
well-nigh  impossible  for  a  poor  foreigner  like  me 
to  come  into  helpful  contact  with  its  real  Ameri- 
can families.  Therefore  I  would  leave  the  great 
city  and  seek  the  smaller  centers  of  population, 
where  men  came  in  friendly  touch  with  one 
another,  daily.  It  had  been  made  clear  to  me 
that  a  purely  commercial  career  could  not  sat- 
isfy me,  that  I  had  a  deep  longing  for  something 
more  in  the  life  of  America  than  the  mere  loaves 
and  fishes,  therefore  that  something  would  I  seek. 

But,  as  has  been  already  stated,  at  the  end 
[  246  ] 


OUT  FROM  MY   KINDRED 

of  my  year-and-a-half's  labors  in  New  York,  I 
found  myself  almost  penniless.  I  had  not  enough 
money  to  carry  me  two  hundred  miles  from  that 
city.  Whatever  my  theory  of  the  "loaves  and 
fishes"  may  have  been,  the  fact  was  that  I 
sorely  needed  them. 

It  so  happened  that  the  most  intimate  friend 
I  had  in  America  at  the  time  was  a  young  man, 
a  graduate  of  the  Syrian  Protestant  College  in 
Beyrout,  who  was  engaged  by  the  Presbyterian 
churches  of  Pittsburg  as  a  missionary  among 
the  Syrians  in  that  city.  Amin  sent  me  a  most 
urgent  invitation  and  money  enough  to  come 
to  him.  He  thought  his  salary  would  keep  us 
both,  until  we  had  matured  our  plans  for  the 
future.  We  were  "to  live  and  die  together!'^ 
Fortune  smiled  also  from  another  direction. 
<  Several  Syrian  silk-merchants  in  New  York, 
learning  that  I  was  about  to  leave  the  colony 
and  that  I  was  in  straitened  financial  circum- 
stances, offered  to  give  me  all  the  silk  goods  I 
might  want  to  sell  in  my  travels,  "  to  keep  me 
alive  until  I  found  a  more  congenial  occupa- 

[   247   ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

tion/*  —  for  which  goods  I  was  to  pay  at  my 
convenience.  The  selling  of  silk,  or  anything 
else,  was  really  hateful  to  me,  but  urgent  ne- 
cessity compelled  me  to  carry  with  me  a  small 
quantity  of  the  fabrics.  The  Syrian  missionar}^ 
in  New  York  introduced  me  to  the  noted  Pres- 
byterian divine.  Dr.  David  Gregg,  of  Brooklyn, 
who  gave  me  a  letter  of  recommendation.  In 
compliance  with  wise  advice  I  went  also  to  Dr. 
Henry  van  Dyke,  then  pastor  of  the  Brick  Pres- 
byterian Church,  and  requested  his  indorse- 
ment of  Dr.  Gregg's  letter.  Dr.  van  Dyke 
met  me  very  cordially,  but  felt  some  hesitancy 
about  giving  a  recommendation  to  one  who  was 
an  entire  stranger  to  him.  But  I  said  to  him,  in 
my  broken  English,  not  to  be  afraid  because 
"  /  was  very  good  maUy^  at  which  I  saw  him  turn 
his  face  from  me  and  smile.  Reaching  to  the 
bookcase  behind  him  he  took  out  a  book  of  a 
very  strange  character  and  asked  me  whether 
I  could  read  that.  I  said  "No.  This  must  be 
Babylon  writing.''  Shaking  with  laughter,  he 
said,  "  It  is  shorthand."  He  wrote  on  my  letter, 
[  248  ] 


OUT   FROM   MY   KINDRED 

"I  join  in  Dr.  Gregg's  wish  for  Mr.  Rihbany's 
success/*  and  so  forth,  and  dismissed  me  with 
a  "God  bless  you.'' 

Armed  with  those  weighty  documents,  on 
the  strength  of  which  a  man  of  stronger  com- 
mercial instincts  than  I  possessed  might  have 
done  much  business,  I  started  out  of  New 
York.  Upon  my  arrival  at  the  Pennsylvania 
Railroad  station  to  take  my  first  railway  trip  in 
America,  the  luxurious  coaches  seemed  forbid- 
den to  me.  Recalling  to  mind  the  rough  and 
dingy  "third-class"  car  in  which  I  was  shipped 
from  Marseilles  to  Havre,  I  thought  certainly 
the  plush-seated,  mahogany-finished  coaches 
which  stood  before  me  were  not  for  penniless 
foreigners  such  as  I  was.  Failing  to  find  the 
humble  conveyance  I  was  looking  for,  I  asked 
a  uniformed  man,  "Which  the  train  to  Pitts- 
burg.^" Pointing  to  the  train  which  I  had  in- 
spected three  times,  he  said,  "This."  Still 
afraid  of  getting  into  the  wrong  car,  I  gazed  at 
the  man,  who,  perceiving  my  perplexed  condi- 
tion, took  me  by  the  arm  to  the  door  of  one  of 
[  249  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

those  costly  coaches  and  said,  "Get  in  here." 
I  immediately  obeyed,  and  the  moving  palace 
carried  me  to  Pittsburg,  .where  my  friend  Amin 
and  I  were  to  seek  as  our  fortune  the  best  things 
in  the  life  of  America. 

In  Pittsburg,  where  I  sojourned  for  about 
two  months,  Amin  and  I,  like  our  countrymen 
of  the  primitive  church  in  Jerusalem,  "had  all 
things  common."  We  abrogated  the  law  of  pri- 
vate property  between  us  altogether.  Whether 
of  books,  clothing,  money,  or  even  letters,  there 
was  no  "This  is  mine"  and  "This  is  thine"; 
all  that  we  possessed  was  ours.  Oriental  senti- 
mentalism  and  brotherly  feelings  reached  their 
height  with  us  when  we  vowed  that  "so  long  as 
we  both  shall  live,  we  will  have  a  common 
purse  and  share  to  the  utmost  each  other's  joys 
and  sorrows."  In  our  sharing  the  one  bed  and 
eating  our  meals  at  a  restaurant  on  one  "  twent}^- 
one-meal  ticket "  there  was  nothing  particularly 
interesting  to  the  public.  But  when  we  wore 
one  another's  clothes,  being  different  in  size,  we 
attracted  some  attention. 

f    2^0    1 


OUT   FROM   MY   KINDRED 

Our  plan  for  the  future  was  that  we  would 
enter  college  together  at  the  earliest  possible 
date.  Amin,  as  I  have  already  said,  was  a  grad- 
uate of  the  Syrian  Protestant  College  of  Bey- 
rout,  Syria,  but  he  was  wise  enough  to  suppose 
that  there  were  "more  things  in  heaven  and 
earth"  than  he  had  yet  learned,  and  that  a 
course  of  study  in  the  higher  branches  of  knowl- 
edge in  one  of  the  leading  universities  of  this 
country  would  not,  in  his  case,  be  superfluous. 
To  secure  funds  for  this  worthy  purpose  we 
decided  to  travel  in  these  States,  and,  wher- 
ever possible,  lecture  before  churches  and  so- 
cieties on  the  Holy  Land,  sell  goods,  seek  finan- 
cial aid  by  whatever  other  honorable  means, 
and,  as  soon  as  our  financial  circumstances 
warranted,  apply  for  admission  at  that  great 
university  which  happened  at  the  time  to  be 
nearest  to  us.  My  friend,  who  had  a  very  fair 
knowledge  of  the  English  language,  was  to  be 
the  senior  member  of  the  firm.  He  was  to  ad- 
dress the  large  assemblies  on  Sundays  and  other 
occasions,  and  I,  who  had  never  spoken  English 

[    2SI     ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

in  public,  was  to  screw  my  courage  to  the  stick- 
ing-point  and  address  small  groups,  in  parlors 
and  at  prayer-meetings.  Qur  choice  of  a  vocation 
was  to  be  made  while  in  college,  with  the  assist- 
ance of  our  professors. 

But  our  fine  plan  was  ere  long  destined  to 
fail,  and  our  fraternal  vow  to  be  broken.  We 
started  out  on  our  "lecturing"  tour  in  the  sum- 
mer, when  the  activities  of  the  churches  are  at 
their  lowest  ebb.  We  encountered  the  absorb- 
ing excitement  of  the  World's  Fair,  which  was 
in  progress  at  Chicago,  and  plunged  into  the 
memorable  financial  panic  of  1893.  The  public 
mind  was  not  in  tune  for  lectures  on  the  Holy 
Land,  or  any  other  land,  and  there  was  very 
little  money  available  in  the  hands  of  the  public 
to  invest  in  Oriental  silks.  And  what  I  felt  was 
the  severest  trial  to  me  was  that  my  beloved 
friend,  Amin,  proved  decidedly  "  infirm  of  pur- 
pose." Tlie  least  difficulty  discouraged  him. 
He  was  a  complete  failure  as  a  public  speaker, 
and  whenever  he  could  dispose  of  a  piece  of 
silk,  he  sold  it  at  cost  and  spent  the  money  in 
[   252   ] 


OUT   FROM   MY   KINDRED 

defraying  his  expenses.  Late  that  summer,  ut- 
terly crushed  by  the  many  difficulties  which 
beset  our  way,  he  left  me,  for  aye,  and  joined 
some  members  of  his  family  who  were  at  the 
World's  Fair. 

I  was  left  alone  battling  against  a  sea  of  trou- 
ble. However,  I  made  a  resolution  which  never/ 
was  broken,  namely,  that,  while  I  longed  pas-/ 
sionately  for  that  unaffected,  juvenile  warmtli 
of  Syrian  friendship,  I  would  enter  into  no  ne\v 
partnership  of  any  sort  with  any  one  of  my 
countrymen.  I  thought  I  could  hear  the  same 
voice  which  said  to  my  namesake,  Abraham, 
"Get  thee  out  of  thy  country,  and  from  thy 
kindred,  and  from  thy  father's  house,  into  the 
land  that  I  will  show  thee."  I  renewed  my 
resolution  to  do  my  utmost  to  secure  a  college 
education,  or  in  some  other  way  relate  myself 
to  the  higher  life  of  America. 

Shortly  after  the  departure  of  my  friend 
Amin,  my  career  as  a  "silk-seller,"  which  had 
by  no  means  been  an  ideal  success,  came  to  an 
end.    I  certainly  lacked  to  a  very  large  extent 

[   253    ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

the  sagacity  of  the  merchant.  I  did  not  believe 
in  letting  the  customer  "look  out  for  herself"; 
I  deemed  it  my  duty  to  guard  her  interests 
with  scrupulous  care.  I  would  point  out  to  the 
prospective  purchaser  all  the  flaws  in  a  piece  of 
silk,  in  advance,  believing  that  the  excellencies 
were  too  obvious  to  be  detailed.  Whenever  I  was 
asked  whether  the  goods  were  all  handmade,  I 
would  answer  that  while  I  was  morally  certain 
that  they  were,  "I  could  not  swear  to  it,"  be- 
cause I  had  never  seen  the  process  with  my  own 
eyes.  Such  conduct  was  not  due  to  the  fact  that 
my  honesty  never  was  accustomed  to  failing, 
but  to  my  theory  that  the  business  I  was  in  was 
mean  enough  without  lying  about  it.  Conse- 
quently, the  high  prices  of  the  goods,  coupled 
with  my  uncalled-for  conscientiousness,  were 
by  no  means  conducive  to  winning  the  confi- 
dence of  would-be  purchasers  and  to  doing  a 
"rushing  business."  I  returned  the  goods  to 
the  merchant  who  had  been  my  source  of  supply 
in  silks  during  my  business  career,  and  decided 
to  pursue  my  life's  ideal  as  a  "  lecturer." 


CHAPTER  XI 

LIGHTS   AND    SHADOWS 

My  Struggles  with  the  English  language  (which 
have  not  yet  ceased)  were  at  times  very  hard. 
It  is  not  at  all  difficult  for  me  to  realize  the  ago- 
nizing inward  struggles  of  a  person  who  has  lost 
the  power  of  speech.  When  I  was  first  com- 
pelled to  set  aside  my  mother-tongue  and  use 
English  exclusively  as  my  medium  of  expres- 
sion, the  sphere  of  my  life  seemed  to  shrink  to 
a  very  small  disk.  My  pretentious  purpose  of 
suddenly  becoming  a  lecturer  on  Oriental  cus- 
toms, in  a  language  in  which  practically  I  had 
never  conversed,  might  have  seemed  to  any  one 
who  knew  me  like  an  act  of  faith  in  the  miracu- 
lous gift  of  tongues.  My  youthful  desire  was 
not  only  to  inform  but  to  move  my  hearers. 
Consequently,  my  groping  before  an  audience 
for  suitable  diction  within  the  narrow  limits  of 
my  uncertain  vocabulary  was  often  pitiable. 
The  exceptions  in  English  grammar  seemed 

[     2SS     ] 


A   FAR  JOURNEY 

to  be  more  than  the  rules.  The  difference  be- 
tNveen  the  conventional  and  the  actual  sounds 
of  such  words  as  "victuals''  and  "colonel" 
seemed  to  me  to  be  perfectly  scandalous.  The 
letter  c  is  certainly  a  superfluity  in  the  English 
language;  it  is  never  anything  else  but  either 
k  or  s.  In  my  native  language,  the  Arabic,  the 
accent  is  always  put  as  near  the  end  of  the  word 
as  possible;  in  the  English,  as  near  the  begin- 
ning as  possible.  Therefore,  in  using  my  adopted 
tongue,  I  was  tossed  between  the  two  extremes 
and  very  often  "  split  the  difference  "  by  taking 
a  middle  course.  The  sounds  of  the  letters,  v^ 
p,  and  the  hard  g,  are  not  represented  in  the 
Arabic.  They  are  symbolized  in  transliteration 
by  the  equivalents  of  /,  b,  and  k.  On  numer- 
ous occasions,  therefore,  and  especially  when  I 
waxed  eloquent,  my  tongue  would  mix  these 
sounds  hopelessly,  to  the  amused  surprise  of 
my  hearers.  I  would  say  "coal"  when  I  meant 
"goal,"  "pig  man"  for  "big  man,"  "buy"  for 
"pie,"  "ferry"  for  "very,"  and  vice  versa.  For 
some  time  I  had,  of  course,  to  think  in  Arabic 
[   256   ] 


LIGHTS   AND   SHADOWS 

and  try  to  translate  my  thoughts  literally  into 
English,  which  practice  caused  me  many  trou- 
bles, especially  in  the  use  of  the  connectives. 
On  one  occasion,  when  an  American  gentleman 
told  me  that  he  was  a  Presbyterian,  and  I,  re- 
joicing to  claim  fellowship  with  him,  sought  to 
say  what  should  have  been,  "We  are  brethren 
in  Christ,''  I  said.  "We  are  brothers,  by  Jesus." 
My  Presbyterian  friend  put  his  finger  on  his  lip 
in  pious  fashion,  and,  with  elevated  brows  and 
a  most  sympathetic  smile,  said,  "That  is  swear- 
ing!" 

But  in  my  early  struggles  with  English,  I 
derived  much  negative  consolation  from  the 
mistakes  Americans  made  in  pronouncing  my 
name.  None  of  them  could  pronounce  it  cor- 
rectly —  Rih-ba'-ny  —  without  my  assistance. 
I  have  been  called  Rib'-beny,  Richbany,  Ri- 
bary,  Labomy,  Rabonie,and  many  other  names. 
An  enterprising  Sunday  School  superintendent 
in  the  Presbyterian  Church  at  Mansfield,  Ohio, 
introduced  me  to  his  school  by  saying,  "Now 
we  have  the  pleasure  of  listening  to  Mr.  Reho- 
[   257   ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

boam!"  The  prefixing  of  "Mr."  to  the  name 
of  the  scion  of  King  Solomon  seemed  to  me 
to  annihilate  time  and  space,  and  showed  me 
plainly  how  the  past  might  be  brought  forward 
and  made  to  serve  the  present. 

But  my  struggles  with  the  technicalities  of 
language  were  not  the  only  pains  of  my  second 
birth  into  the  new  environment.  The  social  re- 
adjustments were  even  more  difficult  to  effect. 
Coming  into  the  house  in  Syria,  a  guest  removes 
his  shoes  from  his  feet  at  the  door,  but  keeps  his 
fez  or  turban  on.  It  was  no  easy  matter,  there- 
fore, for  me,  on  going  into  an  American  home, 
to  realize  instantly  which  extremity  to  uncover. 

The  poetic  Oriental  mind  extends  hospitality 
in  a  very  warm  and  dramatic  manner.  The 
would-be  guest,  although  able  and  willing  to 
accept  an  invitation  to  dinner,  expects  to  be 
urged  repeatedly  by  the  would-be  host,  to  have 
all  his  feigned  objections  overruled,  to  be  even 
pulled  bodily  into  the  house  before  he  gives  his 
consent.  By  following  such  tactics  in  this  coun- 
try, I  lost  many  a  precious  privilege.  The  brev- 
[  258   ] 


LIGHTS   AND   SHADOWS 

ity  of  the  American  invitation  distressed  me 
greatly.  Whenever  I  was  told,  "We  should  be 
much  pleased  to  have  you  come  in  and  have 
dinner  with  us,  if  you  can,"  I  would  answer, 
*'No,  thank  you ;  I  cannot  possibly  come,"  when 
I  had  it  in  mind  all  the  time  that  I  would  gladly 
accept  if  they  would  only  urge  me.  But  they 
would  let  me  go !  They  would  take  me  at  my 
word  (as  they  should  not  do,  I  thought,  in  such 
matters),  to  my  great  disappointment.  It  was 
not  very  long,  however,  before  I  became  on  this 
point  thoroughly  Americanized.  However,  eat- 
ing butter  on  bread,  dessert  with  every  meal,  and 
sitting  in  rocking-chairs  seemed  to  me  to  be 
riotous  luxuries.  It  took  me  about  three  years 
to  become  accustomed  to  these  seeming  super- 
fluities. It  would  require  six  now  to  make  me 
give  them  up. 

The  prominence  of  woman  in  domestic  and 
social  affairs  seemed  to  me,  when  I  first  came  in 
close  touch  with  American  society,  a  strange 
and  unnatural  phenomenon.  While  in  Syria, 
contrary  to  the  view  which  generally  prevails 
[   259  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

in  this  country,  the  woman  is  not  considered  a 
slave  by  the  man,  yet  in  all  important  domestic 
and  social  matters  she  is -looked  upon  as  only 
his  silent  partner.  The  American  woman  is  by 
no  means  silent ;  she  finds  it  neither  convenient 
nor  necessary  to  assume  such  an  attitude. 

The  first  opportunity  I  had  of  making  close 
observation  of  the  social  position  of  the  Ameri- 
can wom^an  was  at  the  home  of  a  Methodist 
minister  where  I  proved  sensible  and  fortunate 
enough  to  accept  "without  controversy'*  an 
invitation  to  dinner.  His  wife  presided  at  the 
table  with  so  much  grace  and  dignity  that  my 
astonishment  at  the  supreme  authority  she 
exercised  on  the  occasion  was  deeply  tinged  with 
respect.  How  harmonious  the  husband  and  wife 
seemed !  What  mutual  regard !  What  delicacy 
of  behavior  toward  each  other!  But  I  could  not 
avoid  asking,  subjectively,  "Is  all  this  really 
genuine  t  Does  this  man  treat  his  wife  in  this 
manner  always,  or  only  when  they  have  com- 
pany t  Why,  my  host  seems  to  be  in  the  hands 
of  his  wife  like  the  clay  in  the  hands  of  the  pot- 
[   260   ] 


LIGHTS  AND   SHADOWS 

ter!  Why  should  a  woman  be  given  so  much 
latitude  ? "  and  so  forth. 

When,  later  in  the  evening,  upon  retiring, 
the  lady  said  to  her  husband,  "Good-night, 
dear,'*  and  kissed  him  in  my  presence,  the  act 
seemed  to  me  distressingly  unseemly.  It  is  no 
longer  distressing  to  me. 

It  should  not  be  counted  against  an  Oriental 
that  he  is  unable  in  a  very  short  period  of  time 
to  invest  such  phases  of  conduct  with  high  ideal- 
ism. If  his  instincts  are  normal,  intimate  asso- 
ciations with  the  better  class  of  Americans  can- 
not fail  to  change  his  sentiments  and  clarify  his 
Vision.  Not  many  years  will  be  required  to  re- 
veal to  him  the  elevating  beauty  of  a  woman's 
being  the  queen  of  her  home,  with  her  husband 
as  a  knight-errant  by  her  side ;  to  teach  him  that 
America,  as  the  heir  to  the  noblest  traditions 
of  northwestern  Europe,  has  discovered  that 
which  neither  the  Oriental  peoples,  ancient 
Egypt,  Greece,  nor  Rome  succeeded  in  discover- 
ing, namely,  that  true  civilization  can  arise  only 
from  a  mutual  regard  of  the  equal  rights,  and, 
[   261    1 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

within  the  family  circle,  the  mutual  love  of 
man,  woman,  and  child. 

All  such  discipline,  hoWever,  was  not  to  be 
compared  with  the  economic  difficulties  which 
beset  my  way,  put  my  optimism  to  the  severest 
test,  and  seriously  threatened  my  stoutest  reso- 
lutions. In  my  travels  westward,  the  expres- 
sions, "These  are  very  hard  times,''  "The  sum- 
mer is  a  dull  season  for  the  churches,"  "Not 
many  people  care  for  lectures  this  time  of 
year,"  tortured  my  hearing  everywhere.  It  was 
so  difficult  for  me  to  secure  money  enough  to 
keep  soul  and  body  together.  In  Oil  City, 
Pennsylvania,  I  longed  for  the  first  time  for  the 
"flesh-pots  of  Egypt"  and  wished  that  I  had 
never  left  Syria.  In  my  search  for  a  cheap  lodg- 
ing-place, I  was  directed  by  a  police  officer  to 
an  old  house  which  seemed  to  me  the  symbol 
of  desolation.  An  elderly  lady,  who  appeared 
very  economical  in  smiling,  "showed  me  into 
my  room"  and  disappeared.  As  my  weary  arm 
dropped  the  valise  inside  the  door,  every  sus- 
taining power  in  me  seemed  to  give  way.  Sobs 
f   262   ] 


LIGHTS   AND   SHADOWS 

and  tears  poured  forth  simultaneously  with, 
"Why  did  I  ever  leave  Syria?"  "Why  did  I 
not  stay  in  New  York ? "  "Is  this  what  America 
has  for  me?''  and  other  questions  with  which 
I  besieged  the  deaf  ears  of  a  lonely  world.  The 
fact  that  my  hostess  served  no  meals  afforded 
me  an  excellent  excuse  to  ask  her  to  direct  me 
to  a  "real"  boarding-house.  She  did  so,  and  I 
transferred  my  headquarters  to  a  more  cheery 
dwelling,  where  the  landlady  smiled  graciously 
and  generously,  and  the  presence  of  fellow 
guests  helped  to  lighten  my  burdens. 

The  veiling  of  the  future  from  mortal  eyes 
is,  I  believe,  a  divine  provision  whose  purpose 
seems  to  be  to  tap  the  springs  of  heroism  in 
human  nature  and  to  equip  the  soul  with  the 
wings  of  hope.  Nevertheless,  this  blessed  mys- 
tery has  its  drawbacks.  Prolonged  uncertainty 
of  the  future  in  those  days  of  loneliness  and 
poverty  threatened  to  sink  the  goal  of  life  be- 
low the  horizon  and  make  of  me  a  wanderer  in 
a  strange  land.  The  alternation  of  life  between 
the  tw^o  extremes,  feast  and  famine,  is  never 
[   263   ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

conducive  to  connected  planning  and  constancy 
of  endeavor. 

At  Columbus,  Ohio,  I  spent  a  whole  week  in 
strenuous  but  utterly  fruitless  endeavor  to 
secure  opportunities  to  earn  some  money.  Hav- 
ing had  to  pay  in  advance  for  my  week's  keep  at 
a  very  frugal  boarding-house,  I  had  only  ten 
cents  left,  which  I  put  in  the  "collection  plate," 
at  a  Salvation  Army  meeting.  To  be  penniless 
was  not  entirely  new  to  me,  but  as  the  week 
drew  to  a  close,  the  question  where  I  was  going 
to  secure  money  enough  with  which  to  leave 
Columbus  became  terribly  oppressive.  There 
was  one  more  venture  for  me  to  make.  I  had 
the  name  of  a  Methodist  minister,  the  Rev. 
John  C.  Jackson,  pastor  of  the  Third  Avenue 
Methodist  Episcopal  Church,  whom  I  had  not 
yet  seen  during  my  sojourn  in  the  capital  of  Ohio. 
My  courageous  plan  was  to  call  on  this  clergy- 
man and  request  him  either  to  give  me  the 
chance  to  lecture  in  his  church  for  a  small  finan- 
cial compensation  or  to  lend  me  money  enough 
to  enable  me  to  leave  Columbus.  The  distance 
[   264  ] 


LIGHTS   AND   SHADOWS 

from  my  boarding-house  to  his  residence  meas- 
ured, if  I  may  trust  my  memory,  twenty-four 
blocks,  which  I  walked  in  v/hat  seemed  to  me 
the  hottest  day  in  the  calendar  of  the  years. 

My  general  appearance  when  I  arrived  at  the 
parsonage  was  not  exactly  what  I  should  call 
a  clear  title  to  confidence  and  the  securing  of 
credit.  Nevertheless,  I  made  my  application 
with  a  creditable  show  of  firmness,  placing  in 
the  hands  of  the  clergyman,  who  was  just  re- 
covering from  a  long  illness,  my  letters  of  re- 
commendation. He  disposed  of  my  request  to 
lecture  in  his  church  by  saying,  "There  is  no 
possible  chance  for  the  present.''  When  I  ap- 
plied for  a  loan  of  five  dollars,  his  pale  face 
lighted  up  with  a  short-lived  smile  as  he  asked, 
**Do  you  expect  you  will  get  it?"  "Y-e-s,"  I 
answ^ered,  "and  to  return  it,  also."  "When 
would  you  return  it?"  he  asked  again.  Falling 
back  upon  the  Biblical  language  of  my  kins- 
men, I  said,  "If  God  prolong  my  life  and 
prosper  me,  I  will  pay  you."  Assuming  the 
attitude  of  perplexed  charity,  Mr.  Jackson  said, 
[   265   ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

"I  do  not  know  whether  you  are  the  man  to 
whom  these  letters  pertain,  nor,  if  you  are  the 
man,  how  you  secured  them  in  the  first  place ; 
but  I  am  going  to  try  you.  Here  is  five  dollars." 
"Certainly  God  has  not  left  this  world,''  I  said 
inwardly,  as  I  received  the  money  from  the 
good  man's  hand.  It  was  only  a  week  thence 
when  God  did  prosper  me  just  enough  so  that 
I  was  able  to  return  to  Mr.  Jackson  his  money 
and  I  received  a  letter  from  him  (which  I  still 
treasure)  thanking  me  for  my  "promptness" 
and  wishing  me  all  kinds  of  success. 

The  next  point  I  touched  at  after  leaving 
Columbus  was  Mount  Vernon,  Ohio,  where  I 
was  much  cheered,  chiefly  by  the  kindness  of 
the  Presbyterian  minister  and  his  gracious  wife. 
And  it  was  at  Mount  Vernon  that  I  learned  my 
first  memory  lesson  in  patriotism.  Soon  after 
my  arrival  in  that  town  I  strayed  into  the  pub- 
lic square  where  stands  a  fine  soldiers'  monu- 
ment. It  seems  to  me  that  my  attention  had 
never  been  strongly  challenged  by  a  similar 
object  in  this  country  before  I  reached  that 
f   266  1 


SOLDIERS      MONUMENT,    MOUNT    VERNON,    OHIO 


LIGHTS   AND   SHADOWS 

small  Ohio  city.  Certainly  I  must  have  seen 
soldiers'  monuments  in  other  towns,  but  was 
not  ready  to  respond  to  their  appeal.  Here,  as 
soon  as  my  eyes  beheld  the  significant  memo- 
rial, I  forgot  for  the  moment  my  weariness  and 
poverty  and  yielded  myself  to  the  mighty  chal- 
lenge of  the  thought  that  I  was  in  a  country 
where  men  died  willingly  and  intelligently  for 
their  flag  and  all  it  symbolized,  and  that  what 
the  flag  did  symbolize  were  ideals  worth  dying 
for.  I  was  chained  to  the  spot  until  I  had  com- 
mitted to  memory  the  inscription  chiseled  on 
one  side  of  the  granite  base,  and  which  read  — 

OUR   COUNTRY 

By  that  dread  name  we  wave  the  sword  on  high, 
And  swear  for  her  to  live  —  for  her  to  die. 

These  vital  w^ords  have  clung  to  my  memory, 
in  the  exact  form  quoted  above,  for  over 
twenty  years.  When  I  thought  of  including 
them  in  this  story,  fearing  that  my  recollection 
of  them  might  be  incorrect,  I  wrote  to  the  com- 
mander of  the  Grand  Army  post  of  Mount 
[   267  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

Vernon,  requesting  him  to  send  me  an  exact 
copy  of  the  inscription,  and  upon  comparing  it 
with  my  memory  picture  I  found  that  I  was 
only  sHghtly  incorrect  in  that  I  had  in  the  first 
Hne  the  word  "In"  in  place  of*'  By,"  and  the 
word  "  lift  "  in  place  of  "  wave." 

Perhaps  the  choicest  of  the  events  of  my 
Wildemess-of-Sinai  discipline  since  I  had  left 
New  York,  occurred  at  Elyria,  Ohio.  I  reached 
that  town  late  in  the  evening  with  a  very  small 
sum  of  money  in  my  purse  —  something  less 
than  two  dollars.  The  severe  economic  strug- 
gles of  the  immediate  past  had  taught  me  to  be 
abnormally  cautious  in  spending  money.  Fail- 
ing to  secure  accommodation  at  either  of  two 
cheap  boarding-houses  in  the  town,  I  ventured 
into  a  hotel  with  very  noticeable  timidity.  As 
soon,  however,  as  the  clerk  told  me  that  my 
lodging  there  would  cost  me  seventy-five  cents, 
I  departed.  I  had  the  name  of  a  prominent 
minister  in  the  town  on  whom  I  thought  I  would 
call  first,  and,  if  he  promised  me  the  oppor- 
tunity to  lecture  in  his  church,  I  might  feel  free 
f   268   ] 


LIGHTS   AND   SHADOWS 

to  indulge  in  the  luxury  of  lodging  at  a  hotel. 

My  experience  with  that  divine  was  not 
pleasant  enough  to  permit  of  the  mention  of 
his  name  and  denomination.  When  I  stated 
my  case  to  him,  he  assumed  a  decidedly  com- 
bative attitude.  I  was  so  weary  that  I  should 
have  been  most  grateful  for  a  few  minutes'  rest 
in  one  of  the  many  upholstered  chairs  which 
graced  the  living-room,  but  the  elderly  gentle- 
man stood  in  the  door  and  kept  me  standing 
in  the  hall,  while  he  quizzed  me  as  follows:  — 

"Did  you  say  that  your  purpose  in  lecturing 
in  the  churches  is  to  secure  funds  to  go  to  col- 
lege?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  I  doubt  it.  I  have  seen  many  fellows 
such  as  you.  What  college  do  you  expect  to 
enter  .^" 

"I  do  not  yet  know,  but  it  will  be  some  good 
college." 

"You  don't  even  know  what  college  you  ex- 
pect to  enter  ?  I  can  say  one  thing  for  all  of  you 
*  traveling  students.'  You  are  very  cunning." 
[   269  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

"  But  I  can  show  good  letters  of  recommen- 
dation from ." 

**  It  would  do  no  good.  Keep  your  letters  to 
yourself.   I  have  seen  many  such  documents." 

"Now,  Dr.  W.,  all  I  ask  for  is  that  you  give 
me  the  chance  to  prove  to  you  that  I  am  an 
honest  man,  for  I  feel  badly  hurt  by  your 
words." 

"Do  not  trouble  yourself  about  that.  At 
any  rate,  I  am  sorry  I  can  do  nothing  for  you. 
Good-night,  sir!" 

The  unexpected  assault  upon  my  integrity 
and  veracity  intensified  the  darkness  of  the 
night  into  which  I  plunged  again,  wounded  to 
the  heart.  It  was  distressing  enough  to  be 
homeless,  weary,  and  in  want;  but  to  be  ac- 
cused of  being  a  swindler  seemed  to  over- 
shadow all  other  trials.  But  hope  triumphed 
over  despair  and  pointed  me  to  the  best  which 
was  yet  to  be.  I  returned  to  the  railway  station 
with  the  intention  of  spending  the  night  there. 
But  the  ticket  agent  thought  differently.  His 
"orders"  required  him  to  lock  the  doors  of  the 
[   270  ] 


LIGHTS   AND   SHADOWS 

station  at  a  certain  hour  in  the  night,  leaving 
no  transient  lodgers  inside.  I  moved  from  the 
station  to  the  park  and  stretched  my  weary- 
mortal  coil  on  one  of  the  benches.  The  air  was 
balmy,  and  I  had  as  good  a  pillow  (the  iron  arm 
of  the  bench)  as  my  countryman  of  old,  Jacob, 
had  at  Peniel.  There  I  would  spend  the  night 
under  the  beneficent  heavens,  meditating  while 
awake  upon  the  time  when  I  should  close  the 
doors  of  some  great  university  behind  me,  de- 
parting not  thence  until  I  had  become  a  full- 
fledged  scholar. 

At  about  midnight,  the  sequel  of  the  balmy 
air  which  enabled  me  to  sleep  in  the  park  com- 
fortably without  extra  covering  arrived.  The 
heavens  wept  over  me  large  generous  tears 
which  drove  me  to  a  pretentious  hotel  near  by, 
where  the  '* night  clerk"  met  me  in  a  stern,  busi- 
nesslike manner  and  most  cruelly  charged  me 
fifty  cents  for  half  a  night's  lodging  in  the 
cheapest  room  he  had. 

In  my  Arabic  diary  of  that  period,  under 
date  of  December  29,  1893, 1  find  the  following 
[   271    ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

entry  which  shows  what  impressions  that  event- 
ful year  left  on  me,  and  indicates  also  my  turn 
of  mind  and  hope  for  the* future:  — 

"I  shall  always  remember  the  events  of  1893 
as  distressing  and  full  of  bitter  pain.  At  times 
I  really  longed  for  death  and  loved  it.  Many 
were  my  difficulties  and  trials,  and  I  had  no 
home  where  to  rest  and  no  real  friends  to  whom 
to  unburden  my  heart.  But  God  has  mysteri- 
ous purposes  beyond  our  power  to  know.  He 
has  sustained  me  and  led  me  safely  through  all 
my  difficulties.  It  is  good  that  I  have  been 
taught  by  my  distresses  to  better  appreciate 
the  comforts  of  life.  Now  there  is  light  on  my 
pathway,  and  I  see  myself  moving  steadily 
toward  better  things.  My  hope  that  the  Most 
High  is  leading  me  to  that  which  He  knows  is 
best  for  me  and  pleasing  to  Him  grows  stronger 
from  day  to  day,  and  I  shall  yet  reach  my  goal, 
by  his  help,  and  preach  to  the  world  his  pure 
and  undefiled  religion." 

Yes,  life's  smiles  are,  on  the  whole,  much 
more  numerous  than  its  frowns,  and,  notwith- 
[   272   ] 


LIGHTS   AND   SHADOWS 

standing  all  its  afflictions,  this  world  is  keyed 
to  goodness.  My  first  appearance  before  an 
American  audience  occurred  at  New  Brighton, 
Pennsylvania,  where,  if  I  remember  correctly, 
a  minister  of  the  United  Presbyterian  Church 
permitted  me  to  speak  on  the  Holy  Land  at  his 
prayer-meeting.  As  the  meeting  (which  was 
not  of  the  ordinary  drowsy  type)  progressed, 
my  whole  soul  said,  "Lord,  it  is  good  to  be 
here."  The  minister,  who  was  past  middle  age 
and  wore  a  most  benignant  countenance,  con- 
ducted the  service  with  such  simple  dignity  and 
sweetness  of  spirit  that  the  whole  scene  was 
transformed  into  a  benediction.  His  lesson  was 
from  Acts  xii,  the  story  of  Peter's  miraculous 
release  from  prison.  I  shall  never  forget  the 
sweet,  informing,  and  persuasive  modulations 
of  that  preacher's  voice  as  he  sought  to  show 
that  although  the  band  of  Christians  who  were 
gathered  together  at  the  house  of  Mary,  the 
mother  of  John,  were  praying  for  the  release  of 
the  imprisoned  apostle,  yet  when  they  were 
told  by  the  damsel,  Rhoda,  that  Peter  stood  at 
[  273   ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

the  door,  they  were  afraid  to  open  and  receive 
the  answer  to  their  prayer.  "They  prayed  God 
to  bring  Peter  to  them;"  said  the  preacher. 
"God  did  bring  the  apostle  to  the  door,  but 
those  praying  Christians  were  afraid  to  open 
and  say,  *  Come  in ! ' " 

I  have  never  been  able  to  ascertain  the  initial 
cause  of  my  decision  to  enter  the  ministry,  nor 
to  point  to  the  exact  time  when  I  was  "called" 
to  it.  What  I  am  certain  of,  however,  is  that 
the  influences  of  such  occasions  as  the  one  men- 
tioned above  did  more  than  any  others  I  know 
to  lead  me  to  the  pulpit.  It  was  the  virile  and 
irresistible  leaven  of  the  characters  of  those 
Christians  of  the  various  denominations,  who 
did  not  so  much  profess  correct  creeds  as  reflect 
the  life  of  the  Master  in  their  own  lives,  which 
led  me  in  a  mysterious  way  to  add  to  my  de- 
cision to  enter  college  the  decision  to  make  my 
life-work  the  holy  ministry  of  religion. 

When  I  stood  up  to  address  the  meeting,  the 
cordial,  sympathetic  attitude  of  the  audience 
soon  calmed  the  violent  beating  of  m.y  heart 
[  274  ] 


LIGHTS   AND   SHADOWS 

and  stopped  the  knocking  of  my  knees  together, 
but  it  had  no  appreciable  effect  on  my  gramjnar 
and  diction.  The  nouns  and  the  verbs  often 
stood  at  cross-purposes  in  my  remarks,  and  the 
adjectives  and  adverbs  interchanged  positions, 
regardless  of  consequences.  My  impromptu 
literal  translation  of  Arabic  into  English  greatly 
puzzled  the  minds  of  my  hearers,  and,  at  times, 
it  was  difficult  even  for  me  to  know  fully  what 
I  was  saying  or  wanted  to  say.  Notwdthstand- 
ing  all  that,  however,  I  managed  in  closing  to 
shift  from  Syria  to  America  and  eulogize  George 
Washington.  The  minister  asked  for  a  contri- 
bution for  me  to  help  me  go  to  college.  As  my 
engagement  to  speak  had  not  been  made  known 
to  my  hearers  before  they  came  to  the  meeting, 
many  of  them  were  unprepared  to  give;  the 
contribution  was  therefore  small,  but  the  meet- 
ing was  rich  in  good  things,  and  I  went  away 
in  a  happy  and  optimistic  frame  of  mind. 

If  any  one  had  told  me  on  that  evening  in 
New  Brighton  that  less  than  three  years  later 
I  was  to  become  the  regular  minister  of  an 

[   275   ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

American  congregation  and  a  "stump  speaker" 
in  favor  of  the  "gold  standard,"  I  should  have 
considered  him  a  very  flighty  day-dreamer. 
But  America,  the  mother  of  modem  wonders, 
began  to  reveal  itself  to  me  and  in  me.  I  soon 
became  possessed  by  the  consciousness  that  the 
whole  country  was  a  vast  university  which 
offered  a  thousand  incentives  to  progress;  that 
I  had  the  privilege  of  being  bom  again  in  a  land 
which  more  than  any  other  on  our  planet  estab- 
lishes the  truth  of  the  New  Testament  promise, 
"Ask,  and  it  shall  be  given  you;  seek,  and  ye 
shall  find;  knock,  and  it  shall  be  opened  unto 
you." 
/  The  Oriental,  as  a  mle,  lives  his  life  in  a  gen- 
eral way,  allowing  a  large  portion  of  its  area 
to  remain  rather  chaotic.  The  American  lives 
his  life  in  detail,  with  order  as  its  basic  princi- 
ple. I  was  very  curious  to  know,  after  leaving 
New  York  and  Pittsburg,  how  the  smaller 
towns  of  America  would  impress  me.  Were 
they  as  insignificant  and  as  wanting  in  enter- 
prise and  culture  compared  with  those  large 
[   276   ] 


LIGHTS  AND   SHADOWS 

cities,  as  the  Syrian  towns  compared  with  Bey- 
rout  and  Damascus  ?  I  was  rapturously  amazed 
to  find  every  small  city  and  town  to  be  New 
York  on  a  smaller  scale.  Each  town  had  its 
''Main  Street"  and  "Washington  Street"  and 
many  other  streets.  Each  town  had  its  town 
hall,  post-office,  banks,  newspapers,  schools, 
and  churches.  And,  oh,  the  home  libraries,  the 
musical  instruments,  the  pictures  on  the  walls, 
the  "striking"  clocks,  and,  above  all,  that 
idealism  which  makes  the  American  woman, 
after  doing  her  housework,  "dress  up  for  the 
afternoon,"  dash  a  little  powder  on  her  nose, 
and  turn  to  her  books  or  her  piano.  Certainly, 
such  a  nation  is  not  "sunk  deep  in  crass  ma- 
terialism." 

I  was  told  while  in  Syria  that  in  America 
money  could  be  picked  up  everywhere.  That 
was  not  true.  But  I  found  that  infinitely  bet- 
ter things  than  money  —  knowledge,  freedom, 
self-reliance,  order,  cleanliness,  sovereign  hu- 
man rights,  self-government,  and  all  that  these 
great  accomplishments  imply  —  can  be  picked 

[   '^ll  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

up  everywhere  in  America  by  whosoever  ear- 
nestly seeks  them.  And  those  among  Americans 
who  are  exerting  the  largest  influence  toward 
the  solution  of  the  "immigration  problem"  are, 
in  my  opinion,  not  those  who  are  writing  books 
on  "good  citizenship,"  but  those  who  stand 
before  the  foreigner  as  the  embodiment  of  these 
great  ideals. 

The  occasions  on  which  I  was  made  to  feel 
that  I  was  a  foreigner  —  an  alien  —  were  so 
rare  that  they  are  not  worth  mentioning.  My 
purpose  in  life,  and  the  large  warm  heart  of 
America  which  opens  wide  to  every  person  who 
aspires  to  be  a  good  and  useful  citizen,  made  me 
forget  that  there  was  an  "  immigration  problem  " 
within  the  borders  of  this  great  Commonwealth. 
When  I  think  of  the  thousand  noble  impulses 
which  were  poured  into  my  soul  in  my  early 
years  in  this  country  by  good  men  and  women 
in  all  the  walks  of  life ;  when  I  think  of  the  many 
homes  in  which  I  was  received  with  my  uncomely 
appearance  and  with  my  crude  manners,  where 
women  who  were  visions  of  elegance  served  me 
[  278  ] 


LIGHTS  AND   SHADOWS 

as  an  honored  guest,  of  the  many  counsels  of 
men  of  affairs  which  fed  my  strength  and 
taught  me  the  lasting  value  of  personal  achieve- 
ments, and  that  America  is  the  land  of,  not  only 
great  privileges,  but  great  responsibilities,  I 
feel  like  saying  (and  I  do  say  whenever  I  have 
the  opportunity)  to  every  foreigner,  "When 
you  really  know  what  America  is,  when  you  are 
willing  to  share  in  its  sorrows,  as  well  as  its  joys, 
then  you  will  cease  to  be  a  whining  malcontent, 
will  take  your  harp  down  from  the  willows,  and 
will  not  call  such  a  country  *a  strange  land.'" 

Of  all  the  means  of  improvement  other  than 
personal  associations  w  ith  good  men  and  women, 
the  churches  and  the  public  schools  gripped 
most  strongly  at  the  strings  of  my  heart.  Upon 
coming  into  town,  the  sight  of  the  church  spires 
rising  above  the  houses  and  the  trees  as  wit- 
nesses to  man's  desire  for  God,  always  gave  me 
inward  delight.  True,  religion  in  America  lacks 
to  a  certain  extent  the  depth  of  Oriental  mysti- 
cism; yet  it  is  much  more  closely  related  than 
in  the  Orient  to  the  vital  issues  of  "the  life  which 
[   279   ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

now  is."  Often  would  I  go  and  stand  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  street  from  a  pubUc-school 
building  at  the  hour  of  dismissal  (and  this  pas- 
sion still  remains  with  me)  just  for  the  purpose 
of  feasting  my  eyes  on  seeing  the  pupils  pour 
out  in  squads,  so  clean  and  so  orderly,  and  seem- 
ingly animated  by  all  that  is  noblest  in  the  life 
of  this  great  nation.  My  soul  would  revel  in  the 
thought  that  no  distinctions  were  made  in  those 
temples  of  learning  between  Jew  and  Gentile, 
Protestant  and  Catholic,  the  churched  and  the 
unchurched;  all  enjoyed  the  equality  of  privi- 
lege, shared  equally  in  the  intellectual  and  moral 
feast,  and  drank  freely  the  spirit  of  the  noblest 
patriotism. 

My  progress  in  the  English  language  was  as 
surprising  to  me  as  it  was  delightful.  When  I 
first  met  Edward  Everett  Hale  in  Boston,  in 
1903,  the  first  thing  he  said  to  me  when  I 
slipped  my  hand  into  his  ponderous  palm  was, 
''How  in  the  world  have  you  managed  to  speak 
English  so  well?" 

*'I  do  not  know,"  was  my  answer, 
f   280   1 


LIGHTS   AND   SHADOWS 

I  really  did  not.  It  is  wonderful  what  even 
a  few  months  can  do  to  equip  with  Hnguistic 
facihties  a  person  who  Hstens  with  his  ears  and 
his  understanding  alike.  The  vocabulary  of 
every  succeeding  day  shames  that  of  the  day 
before.  My  being  entirely  cut  off  from  using 
the  Arabic  language  was  my  greatest  aid  in 
acquiring  English.  My  vocabulary,  which  has 
become  varied  and  flexible  enough  for  my  pur- 
poses, was  not  acquired  from  a  forced  study  of 
the  classics.  It  poured  into  me  from  the  lips  of 
living  men  in  all  the  walks  of  life.  I  listened 
with  eager  sympathy  to  the  words  of  preach- 
ers, merchants,  artisans,  farmers,  hack-drivers, 
housewives,  and  others  who  spoke  as  they  felt 
in  dealing  with  the  various  issues  of  life. 

I  owe  a  great  debt  to  the  live  language  of  the 
English  Bible.  On  occasions,  I  would  open  my 
Arabic  Bible  at  church  and  follow  the  Scripture 
lesson  as  read  by  the  minister,  and  thus  learn 
what  the  English  words  meant.  On  other  occa- 
sions, I  would  open  my  English  Bible  and  learn 
how  the  words  were  pronounced.  Thus  the  Eng- 
[   281    ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

Ilsh  has  come  to  me  saturated  and  mellowed 
with  feeling.  The  phrases  of  the  English  Bible 
are  elemental  human  sentiments  made  tangible. 

It  was  in  Chillicothe,  Ohio,  that  I  had  my  first 
glimpse  into  American  history.  The  "hard 
times''  did  not  prevent  me  from  buying  **A 
Brief  History  of  the  United  States/'  the  con- 
tents of  which  I  virtually  devoured.  My  in- 
structors were  my  fellow  guests  at  a  comfortable 
and  respectable  boarding-house.  I  would  retire 
into  my  room,  ponder  the  annals  of  this  mod- 
em ''chosen  people"  until  I  reached  a  passage 
whose  words  proved  too  big  for  my  mind  to 
grasp  (which  was  often  the  case),  when  I  would 
go  out  and  demand  light  on  the  subject  from  the 
first  guest  I  happened  to  meet.  A  physician's 
wife  and  the  genial  gray-haired  proprietor  of 
the  boarding-house  manifested  deep  interest 
in  me  and  were  ever  ready  to  aid  my  strenuous 
endeavor  to  become  *'an  enlightened  American 
citizen." 

The  proprietor,  who,  I  believe,  had  fought  in 
[   282  ] 


LIGHTS   AND   SHADOWS 

the  Civil  War,  would  relate  to  me  events  of  that 
great  conflict  in  such  a  droll  manner  that  my 
study  of  history  under  his  supervision  was  a 
supreme  delight. 

"Yes,"  he  would  say,  "we  did  hang  Jeff 
Davis  on  a  sour-apple  tree,  or  we  would  have 
done  it  but  for  our  respectability.  We  whipped 
those  fellows  down  there  pretty  soundly.  We 
spanked  them  so  hard  that  I  am  certain  they 
never  will  do  it  again." 

But  the  genial  proprietor  enlightened  me  on 
other  subjects  than  that  of  the  Civil  War.  He 
gave  me  my  first  real  lesson  in  English  on  table- 
manners.  One  day  he  asked  me,  "How  do  you 
like  our  grub?"  "What  is  your  grub,  sir.?"  I 
asked.  With  a  mischievous  smile  which  scarcely 
agitated  his  weeping-willow  mustache  and  thick 
beard,  he  said,  "It  is  the  things  we  eat,  you 
know.  And  —  and  —  it  is  part  of  good  manners 
to  show  —  in  —  in  —  some  way  that  we  like 
the  grub,  just  to  please  our  host."  That  was  to 
me  a  most  welcome  bit  of  information.  I  had 
been  greatly  at  a  loss  to  know  how  to  express 
[   283   ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

in  the  English  language  my  appreciation  of  a 
good  dinner.  Certainly  now  I  had  no  longer  an 
excuse  to  omit  such  a  cultured  formality.  It 
was  only  a  short  time  thereafter  that  I  hap- 
pened to  dine  with  a  Lutheran  minister  whose 
gracious  wife  served  for  the  occasion  a  bounteous 
and  elegantly  appointed  dinner.  I  could  hardly 
wait  for  the  proper  moment  to  express  my  great 
appreciation  of  the  repast.  When  the  moment 
came,  I  turned  to  my  hostess  with  cheerful 
dignity  and  said,  "Mrs.  F.,  I  have  greatly  en- 
joyed your  grub.''  But  when  her  husband 
laughed  so  that  he  fell  from  his  chair,  I  suspected 
that  my  instruction  in  table-manners  at  Chilli- 
cothe  was  somewhat  defective. 

It  was  in  the  little  town  of  Elmore,  Ohio,  in 
the  early  autumn  of  1893,  that  I  felt  for  the  first 
time  that  I  could  hold  the  attention  of  an  Amer- 
ican audience.  There  I  was  permitted  to  ad- 
dress a  union  meeting  of  the  churches  in  the 
Presbyterian  Church  on  a  Sunday  evening.  The 
little  building  was  crowded  to  the  doors.  My 
subject  was  "Turkey  and  America  Contrasted." 
[   284  ] 


LIGHTS   AND   SHADOWS 

I  do  not  know  what  did  it,  but  my  auditors  were 
so  deeply  moved  that  they  interrupted  m.e  twice 
with  loud  and  prolonged  applause,  regardless  of 
the  fact  that  the  service  was  essentially  religious, 
the  time  Sunday,  and  the  place  a  Presbyterian 
Church.  At  the  close  of  the  meeting,  the  minis- 
ter of  the  church  with  a  cordial  handshake  re- 
inforced my  ambition  with  the  generous  pro- 
phecy, "My  brother,  whatever  else  you  might, 
or  might  not,  become,  you  are  going  to  make  a 
very  effective  public  speaker.    Keep  right  on." 

Well,  I  am  still  keeping  on. 

It  was  in  that  little  town  also  that  I  first 
heard  "America"  sung.  The  line  "Land  where 
my  fathers  died  "  stuck  in  my  throat.  I  envied 
every  person  in  that  audience  who  could  sing 
it  truthfully.  For  years  afterward,  whenever 
I  tried  to  sing  those  words,  I  seemed  to  myself 
to  be  an  intruder.  At  last  a  new  light  broke  upon 
my  understanding.  At  last  I  was  led  to  realize 
that  the  fathers  of  my  new  and  higher  self  did 
live  and  die  in  America.  I  was  bom  in  Syria  as 
a  child,  but  I  was  bom  in  America  as  a  man. 
[   285   ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

All  those  who  fought  for  the  freedom  I  enjoy, 
for  the  civic  ideals  I  cherish,  for  the  simple  but 
lofty  virtues  of  the  typical  American  home 
which  I  love,  were  my  fathers!  Therefore,  I  could 
sing  the  words  "Land  where  my  fathers  died  " 
with  as  much  truth  and  justice  as  the  words, 
"Land  of  the  pilgrim's  pride/' 

From  Elmore  I  proceeded  to  Wauseon,  Ohio, 
a  town  which  numbered  then  about  three  thou- 
sand inhabitants,  and  where  a  new  chapter  was 
opened  in  my  life's  history.  Upon  my  arrival 
in  this  town,  I  called  on  the  Congregational 
minister,  and,  finding  him  willing  to  open  his 
church  for  me  to  lecture,  requested  him  to  di- 
rect me  to  some  "Christian  boarding-house." 
The  friendly  divine  conducted  me  to  a  private 
house  where  lived  two  widowed  sisters  who  had 
room  and  time  enough  to  care  for  a  few  of  the 
"good  class  "  of  boarders.  I  was  not  long  in  that 
modest  home  before  I  discovered  that  the  two 
ladies  were  lovers  of  good  books  and  profoundly 
religious.  Through  the  kinship  of  our  spirits, 
and  upon  hearing  my  story  and  learning  of  my 
[   286   ] 


LIGHTS   AND   SHADOWS 

life's  purpose,  they  became  deeply  interested  in 
me.  They  said  they  seemed  to  perceive  that  I 
had  "a  bright  and  useful  future"  before  me  and 
they  wished  to  share  in  its  realization. 

The  two  good  sisters,  Mrs.  Susan  Baldwin 
and  Mrs.  Rosa  Kolb,  were  not  rich  in  this 
world's  goods.  But  they  had  a  home,  and,  so 
long  as  I  had  none,  I  was  most  cordially  in- 
vited to  share  that  home  with  them  as  a  younger 
brother.  There  I  might  return  from  my  travels 
and  find  sympathetic  friends  ready  to  aid  me, 
by  their  counsel  and  other  friendly  services,  to 
conquer  my  difficulties  and  get  nearer  to  my 
life's  goal.  In  my  wanderings  up  to  that  time, 
I  had  not  lacked  words  of  encouragement  and 
inspiration  which  seemed  to  pour  out  from  the 
heart  of  a  nation  whose  spirit  is  friendliness  and 
whose  genius  is  progress.  Notwithstanding  all 
that,  however,  my  being  tossed  about  by  every 
wind  of  difficulty  while  I  had  nowhere  to  lay 
my  head,  had  begun  to  tell  on  me.  Down  be- 
neath my  conscious  resolution  a  counter-current 
had  set  in.  A  keen  yearning  for  friends  and  a 
[   287   ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

fixed  abode  (which  is  strongest  in  the  Oriental 
nature)  would  at  intervals  flood  my  soul  with 
sadness.  No  doubt  that  friendly,  though  hum- 
ble, home  in  Bethany  furthered  mightily  the 
trium.ph  of  the  Gospel. 

The  gracious,  friendly  offer  of  the  two  sisters 
came  to  me  as  a  most  timely  reinforcement. 
When  I  think  how  my  strength  and  courage 
were  renewed  and  my  cup  of  inspiration  was 
refilled  by  their  manifold  and  never-failing 
services  to  me,  I  realize  most  clearly  that  we  do 
not  need  to  be  rich  in  order  to  be  helpful,  nor 
known  to  fame  in  order  to  be  inspiring.  I  cannot 
contemplate  what  success  I  have  achieved  or 
might  achieve  in  life  without  feeling  that  but 
for  the  influence  of  those  two  good  women  the 
story  of  my  life  might  have  been  entirely  differ- 
ent from  what  it  is. 

It  was  in  the  Congregational  Church  of  Wau- 
seon  that  I  preached  my  first  real  sermon  in 
America.  After  the  manner  of  all  youthful 
preachers,  I  chose  a  subject  which  might  have 
staggered  the  powers  of  a  Beecher  or  a  Phillips 
[   288   ] 


LIGHTS   AND    SHADOWS 

Brooks.  My  bold  purpose  was,  first,  to  prove 
the  existence  of  God ;  second,  to  show  how  the 
soul  was  related  to  Him;  third,  to  persuade  my 
hearers  to  believe  that  an  irreligious  person  was 
only  an  animal,  and  had  no  eternal  life  in  him. 
I  had  constructed  my  premises,  drawn  my 
conclusions,  and  planned  my  final  assault  in 
Arabic,  and  trusted  the  reproduction  of  all 
this  formidable  array  of  ideas,  in  English,  to 
the  "inspiration  of  the  pulpit.''  I  trust  that  my 
hearers  still  believed  in  God,  notwithstanding 
all  my  toilsome,  painful,  and  unintelligible  ef- 
forts to  prove  his  existence.  The  effect  of  the 
*' sermon"  was  indicated  to  me  at  the  close  of 
the  service  by  a  remark  which  I  overheard  a 
lady  make  to  another.  "  Poor  fellow,"  said  the 
charitable  woman,  "in  all  probability  he  had 
an  idea,  but  certainly  not  the  language  to  ex- 
press it." 

Nor  did  I  fare  better  four  years  later  when  I 

preached  again  in  that  same  church,  after  I  had 

been  the  regular  pastor  of  a  church  for  more 

than  a  year,  and  had  been  told  that  I  did 

[   289   ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

preach  acceptable  sermons.  On  this  occasion, 
while  walking  home  with  a  friend  after  the  serv- 
ice, he  turned  to  me,  and^^with  a  mischievous 
smile,  said,  "Do  you  remember,  when  about 
four  years  ago  you  preached  here,  that  it  was 
said  you  probably  had  an  idea,  but  not  the 
words  to  express  it?"  "Yes,"  I  answered,  ex- 
pecting a  veritable  psalm  of  praise  for  my  later 
achievement.  "Well,"  he  said,  "this  morning 
it  was  just  the  reverse!  " 

It  was  while  at  my  newly  found  home  in 
Wauseon  that  I  first  became  deeply  interested 
in  the  history  of  the  Civil  War,  and  began  to 
see  clearly  what  this  country,  which  we  new- 
comers found  ready  for  us  with  all  its  unparal- 
leled privileges,  cost  in  blood  and  treasure  to 
preserve  its  unity  and  guard  its  institutions. 
My  soul  was  fired  with  admiration  for  the  de- 
votion, heroism,  and  endurance  of  the  Ameri- 
can volunteer  soldier,  of  both  the  North  and 
the  South.  And,  oh,  the  story  of  Abraham  Lin- 
coln !  How  it  opened  every  vein  of  sympathy 
in  my  nature  and  awakened  in  me  deep,  almost 
[   290   ] 


LIGHTS   AND   SHADOWS 

religious  reverence  for  the  memory  of  that 
"rich  and  various  man."  As  I  read  and  re-read 
the  records  of  his  journey  from  a  log  cabin  to 
the  White  House,  Lincoln  seemed  to  me  to 
be  the  noblest  human  example  this  side  the 
Crucifixion,  and  the  supreme  vindication  of 
democracy. 

And  now  to  say  that  my  enthusiasm  for  the 
martyr  president  has  been  sobered  down  and 
relieved  of  its  high  coloring,  does  by  no  means 
indicate  a  reversal  of  my  youthful  estimate  of 
his  worth.  No;  Abraham  Lincoln  remains  to 
me  as  one  of  the  great  world-builders  and 
saviors  of  humanity.  But  my  present  opinion 
is  that,  if  humanity  is  not  to  be  pronounced 
a  failure,  no  one  individual  can  be  so  good  above 
all  other  individuals,  nor  of  sufficiently  inclu- 
sive greatness  as  to  be  called  the  noblest  human 
example  and  the  supreme  vindication  of  democ- 
racy. I  find  the  vindication  of  democracy  not 
only  in  the  career  of  Lincoln,  but  also  in  the 
million  men  who  left  their  occupations  and  re- 
sponded to  his  call  to  arms  to  defend  a  national 
[  291    ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

ideal;  I  find  it  in  the  fortitude  and  sacrificing 
love  of  the  countless  American  mothers,  wives, 
and  sisters,  who  bade  their  men  go  forth  and 
give  their  fullest  measure  of  devotion  to  the 
homes  and  altars  of  their  country.  I  find  the 
supreme  vindication  of  democracy  in  this  na- 
tion's survival  of  the  shocks  of  the  greatest  civil 
war  in  history ;  in  that  great  historic  triumph  of 
reason  over  the  passions  in  a  reunited  North 
and  South;  in  America's  millions  of  happy 
homes ;  in  its  multitudes  of  schools  and  libra- 
ries, which  are  "free  to  all,"  and  in  the  fact 
that  its  power  of  cohesion  is  neither  that  of 
standing  armies,  nor  yet  of  superimposed  laws, 
but  the  intelligence  of  its  citizens  and  m^utual 
good  will  among  them.  I  find  the  vindication 
of  democracy  in  the  marvelous  assimilative 
powers  of  America  through  which  hosts  of 
aliens  are  enfranchised  in  peace  and  freedom, 
intellectually,  politically,  and  socially;  in  the 
fact  that  one  may  travel  through  the  whole 
vast  territory  called  the  United  States,  the 
home  of  a  hundred  million  souls,  without  en- 
[    292    ] 


LIGHTS  AND  SHADOWS 

coimtering  a  custom-house,  a  "frontier guard," 
or  a  constabulary  squad ;  in  the  American  citi- 
zen's love  for  fair  play  and  his  deep  conviction 
that  right  only  makes  might. 

In  the  State  of  Indiana  I  first  came  into  close 
touch  with  the  well-known  religious  "revivals," 
and  formed  a  clear  idea  of  what  Protestantism 
calls  "conversion."  I  was  deeply  impressed  by 
the  zeal  with  which  the  Christians  labored  to 
bring  "sinners"  to  Christ,  and  the  fact  that 
during  a  revival  the  religious  idea  loomed 
highest  in  the  community.  But  I  must  say  it 
was  not  long  before  I  developed  a  decided  dis- 
like to  the  methods  of  professional  "Evangel- 
ists," whose  message  contained  infinitely  more 
fear  of  hell-fire  than  love  for  the  Christ-life,  and 
to  whom  the  clearest  evidence  of  the  religious 
interest  in  a  community  was  the  size  of  the  col- 
lection. 

One  of  my  first  experiences  (and  it  was  rather 
grim)  at  a  revival  took  place  in  the  town  of 
Kokomo,  Indiana.  The  meetings  were  being 
[   293    ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

held  in  a  Methodist  church,  but  I  am  not  cer- 
tain whether  it  was  the  regular  Methodists  or 
some  other  branch.  Toward  the  close  of  the 
meeting,  which  I  attended,  tearful  sentiments 
converted  the  service  into  a  veritable  Babel. 
Presently  a  woman  who,  as  I  was  told  later 
"got  the  power,*'  sprang  up  from  her  seat  and, 
shouting,  "Glory  to  Jesus!"  dashed  about,  em- 
bracing whosoever  came  in  her  way.  I  re- 
mained reasonably  collected  until  I  saw  her 
heading  for  me  with  open  arms.  Just  think  of 
a  Syrian  youth  with  all  his  psychological  ante- 
cedents with  regard  to  woman,  in  such  a  situa- 
tion! I  instantly  decided  that  I  would  not  be 
embraced,  even  though  the  motive  of  my  pur- 
suer was  purely  spiritual.  I  slipped  precipi- 
tately behind  a  large  pillar;  the  lady,  seemingly 
not  particular  whom  she  embraced,  bestowed 
her  affections  on  more  courageous  worshipers, 
while  I  effected  my  escape.  I  never  returned 
to  those  meetings. 

In  contrast  with  the  above  experience,  I  will 
relate  another  I  had  in  Columbia  City  of  the 
[   294   ] 


LIGHTS   AND   SHADOWS 

same  State.  Through  the  kindness  of  its  min- 
ister, I  was  permitted  to  mount  the  pulpit  of 
the  Presbyterian  Church  on  a  Sunday  morn- 
ing and  give  a  talk  on  Syria.  I  spied  in  the  audi- 
ence a  gentleman  of  a  penetrating  but  kindly 
eye  who  seemed  to  listen  with  rapt  attention. 
The  next  morning  the  minister  of  the  church 
told  me  that  a  gentleman  who  had  heard  me 
the  day  before  wished  to  see  me  at  his  office ; 
that  he  was  a  lawyer  and  a  "fine  gentleman" 
by  the  name  of  Marshall.  The  minister  went 
with  me  to  the  law  office,  introduced  me  to  the 
gentleman,  whom  I  recognized  as  the  good 
listener  I  had  seen  at  the  church,  and  departed, 
leaving  us  alone.  Mr.  Marshall  asked  me  a  few 
questions  about  my  birthplace  and  my  plans 
for  the  future,  and  I  answered  that  my  plans 
were  to  become  a  good  American  citizen,  and, 
if  possible,  a  preacher.  He  smiled  in  a  very 
genial  manner,  and,  reaching  into  his  pocket, 
handed  me  a  five-dollar  bill  as  his  contribution 
which  he  was  not  prepared  to  give  at  the  Sun- 
day service,  saying,  "  I  am  sure  you  will  make 
[  295   ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

good  use  of  it/'  The  years  passed,  and,  while 
I  often  thought  of  that  good  Mr.  Marshall,  I 
lost  connection  with  him  until  191 2,  when  Mr. 
Thomas  R.  Marshall  was  nominated  for  Vice- 
President  of  the  United  States  and  later  elected. 
The  appearance  of  his  picture  in  the  news- 
papers, and  the  fact  that  he  practiced  law  in 
Columbia  City  in  1893,  brought  me  again  in 
touch  with  my  benefactor. 


CHAPTER  XII 

COLLEGE    AND    PULPIT 

But  I  have  still  more  —  much  more  —  to  say 
about  Indiana.  Late  in  the  winter  of  1894,  I 
happened  to  be  in  the  small  town  of  Butler  in 
the  Hoosier  State,  where  I  delivered  two  ad- 
dresses. One  of  my  hearers,  the  principal  of  the 
schools,  became  deeply  interested  in  me  "at 
first  sight"  and  made  me  an  offer  right  then 
and  there  which  made  me  wildly  interested  in 
him.  Mr.  K.'s  entrancing  story  was  this.  An 
anonymous  philanthropist  had  placed  at  his 
disposal  one  million  dollars  as  an  endowment 
for  a  small  college.  The  high  purpose  of  the 
donor  was  not  only  to  equip  such  a  college  with 
every  modern  educational  facility,  and  thus 
make  it  rival  the  great  universities,  but  that 
no  promising  young  man  who  sought  to  enter 
this  institution,  especially' if  his  goal  were  the 
ministry,  should  be  turned  out  for  lack  of  funds. 
What  seemed  obvious  to  Mr.  K.,  and  even  I 
[  297  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

could  see  it,  was  that  my  case  came  most  snugly 
within  the  purpose  of  the  donor.  I  was  "prom- 
ising/' I  lacked  funds,  my  goal  was  the  min- 
istry. Therefore,  all  my  fretting  and  worrying 
about  securing  a  college  education  should 
now  cease.  Furthermore,  being  a  stranger  in  a 
strange  land,  I  was  to  enjoy  the  personal  atten- 
tion and  friendship  of  Mr.  K.,  who,  according 
to  the  terms  of  the  endowment,  was  to  be  the 
president  of  the  college.  I  was  to  be  provided 
with  everything  I  needed  as  a  student,  in  re- 
turn for  which  favors  I  was  to  deliver  a  cer- 
tain number  of  lectures  (dates  to  be  made  by 
the  president)  every  year  in  various  parts  of 
the  state  and  thus  advertise  the  college.  The 
prospective  president  further  informed  me  that 
he  was  about  to  secure  control  of  a  small  col- 
lege at  North  Manchester,  Indiana,  of  which 
he  expected  to  take  actual  possession  in  the  fol- 
lowing September  and  transform  it  so  as  to  fit 
the  plans  of  the  hidden  millionaire. 

While  Mr.  K.  was  unfolding  his  proposition, 
streaks  of  lightning  ran  up  and  down  my  spine. 


COLLEGE   AND   PULPIT 

I  felt  as  if  I  were  in  a  dream  of  sanctifying 
beauty,  and  was  afraid  to  move  even  a  muscle 
for  fear  of  waking  up  and  losing  the  vision.  At 
last,  college!  All  my  pain  and  sorrow,  hunger 
and  fatigue,  were  about  to  be  transfigured  into 
glorious  victories;  my  prayers  v/ere  to  be  an- 
swered and  my  highest  hopes  fulfilled.  Could 
it  be  true.^  College?  And  on  such  terms!  A 
million  dollars  back  of  me  and  the  president 
of  the  college  my  personal  friend.  It  was  diffi- 
cult for  me  not  to  believe  that  in  some  way  I 
was  a  millionaire  myself.  Somehow  I  managed 
to  break  the  enthralling  spell  of  the  occasion 
enough  to  thank  Mr.  K.  with  genuine  Oriental 
effusiveness  for  his  surpassing  kindness,  and  to 
promise  most  solemnly  to  be  at  North  Man- 
chester College  on  the  4th  day  of  the  following 
September. 

From  the  time  I  met  Mr.  K.,  in  the  latter 
part  of  February,  1894,  until  September  of  the 
same  year,  when  I  was  to  enter  college  as  an 
especially  favored  student,  my  whole  life  was 
a  state  of  intense  expectancy.  The  future  so 
[   299  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

beamed  with  joy  that,  Hke  a  child  on  Christ- 
mas Eve,  I  often  wished  I  might  have  fallen 
asleep  at  the  end  of  our  conversation  and  awak- 
ened in  the  classroom  at  the  college. 

In  the  mean  time,  my  friend  Mr.  K.  was  lead- 
ing to  a  successful  conclusion  negotiations  to 
secure  control  of  the  small  college  at  North 
Manchester,  Indiana.  Finally,  the  college, 
which  had  been  struggling  painfully  for  years 
to  maintain  its  existence,  was  placed  in  his 
hands,  and  he  proceeded  with  characteristic 
Western  enterprise  to  mature  the  plans  stipu- 
lated in  the  endowment  contract. 

On  the  4th  day  of  September,  1894,  my  pil- 
grim staff  rested  in  North  Manchester.  There 
I  found  Mr.  K.  bearing  the  prerogatives  of  his 
office  as  college  president  with  the  simple  dig- 
nity of  a  Lincoln.  The  citizens  were  happy  that 
a  new  and  virile  educational  era  was  dawning 
upon  their  town.  A  corps  of  efficient  professors 
took  charge  of  the  various  departments,  and 
a  happy  student  body,  numbering  about  two 
hundred,  sought  the  pabulum  of  knowledge  at 

[   300   ] 


COLLEGE   AND   PULPIT 

the  richly  endowed  institution.  Those  of  us 
who  were  to  receive  special  financial  aid  were 
known  as  the  millionaire  students,  which  des- 
ignation we  bore  with  becoming  dignity.  But 
there  were  other  especially  favored  students. 
One  of  Mr.  K.'s  schemes,  which  seemed  to  him 
to  mark  an  advance  in  the  history  of  education, 
was  that  every  student  who  secured  five  other 
pay  students  should  be  given  a  free  scholarship, 
a  privilege  of  which  a  few  enterprising  students 
availed  themselves.  Literary  societies,  political 
clubs,  and  prayer  circles  were  soon  organized, 
and  all  signs  inspired  the  hope  that  ere  long  our 
college  would  merit  the  title  of  the  "Harvard 
of  the  Middle  West." 

The  theological  department,  in  which  I  was 
especially  interested,  was  under  the  sole  con- 
trol of  an  elderly  preacher  who  succeeded  emi- 
nently in  convincing  his  pupils  that  he  knew 
Hebrew,  Greek,  and  Latin.  He  was  a  devout 
man,  brimful  of  friendliness  and  fatherly  coun- 
sel. Perhaps  his  most  serious  defect  was  his 
strong  tendency  to  doze  during  recitations. 

[   301    ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

On  one  occasion,  in  order  to  awaken  him  in  a 
polite  manner,  we  sang  a  hymn.  He  woke  and 
was  so  pleased  with  our  melody  that  he  dis- 
coursed to  us  for  about  half  an  hour  on  the 
power  of  music  over  a  congregation. 

My  life  in  North  Manchester  was  most 
happy.  American  friendliness  and  hospitality 
never  seemed  to  me  to  be  more  free  and  abun- 
dant than  in  that  little  city.  The  demand  for 
me  as  a  lecturer  and  preacher  was  always  more 
than  I  could  supply.  On  one  occasion  I  was 
highly  honored  by  being  asked  to  represent  the 
college  at  a  patriotic  celebration  and  make  an 
address  on  George  Washington.  I  took  for  my 
text  the  story  of  the  hatchet,  and  proved  con- 
clusively that  the  Father  of  his  Country  was 
a  very  honest  man,  concluding  with  the  ad- 
monition that,  in  order  to  be  worthy  of  such  a 
father,  as  American  citizens  we  should  all  be 
honest. 

The  entire  population  of  the  college,  as  well 
as  the  town,  had  implicit  faith  in  the  "anony- 
mous millionaire"  until  the  beginning  of  the 
[   302   ] 


COLLEGE  AND   PULPIT 

second  term,  when  the  treasurer  of  the  college, 
having  spent  all  the  tuition  money  he  had  re- 
ceived at  the  beginning  of  the  school  year,  be- 
came suddenly  insolvent.  He  was  in  frequent 
consultation  with  the  president,  when  attitudes 
spoke  louder  than  words.  The  countenances  of 
our  poor  professors  began  to  betray  a  porten- 
tous situation,  and  the  student  body  was  seized 
with  a  secret  fear  such  as  is  felt  upon  the  first 
intimations  of  an  earthquake.  At  last  the 
treasurer  became  more  communicative  and  in- 
formed the  faculty  that  the  college  was  in 
"financial  straits."  "What?  With  a  million 
dollars  back  of  it?"  When  appealed  to  for 
funds,  the  president  stated  rather  cheerfully 
that  ultimately  all  was  safe.  The  reason,  he  said, 
that  the  "millionaire"  had  not  yet  turned  over 
to  the  college  treasurer  the  first  installment  of 
the  endowment  fund  was  due  to  the  fact  that 
the  citizens  of  the  town  had  not  as  yet  met  the 
terms  of  their  agreement  by  beginning  the  erec- 
tion of  a  certain  building  for  the  college.  The 
citizens  protested  that  they  had  never  entered 

[   303    ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

into  such  an  agreement,  but  that  they  were 
willing  to  aid  the  college  in  every  possible  way, 
provided  that  a  committee  chosen  from  among 
their  most  highly  respected  citizens  be  per- 
mitted to  meet  the  "donor''  himself  and  ascer- 
tain his  wishes  with  regard  to  what  was  expected 
of  them.  But  the  president  contended  that  to 
reveal  even  the  name  of  his  wealthy  friend  would 
be  base  treachery  on  his  part,  adding  emphati- 
cally that  he  would  rather  resign  than  commit 
such  a  deed. 

**Some  one  had  blundered,"  and  thus  what 
seemed,  at  least  to  Mr.  K.  and  to  me,  one  of  the 
most  significant  educational  enterprises  of  the 
nineteenth  century,  was  pmctically  killed  in  its 
infancy,  just  because  a  millionaire  philanthro- 
pist insisted  on  interpreting  literally  the  scrip- 
tural injunction,  "When  thou  doest  thine  alms, 
let  not  thy  left  hand  know  what  thy  right  hand 
doeth,  that  thine  alms  may  be  in  secret."  Just 
because  of  such  a  technicality,  we,  millionaire 
students,  were  suddenly  reduced  to  pauperism. 

The  real  secret  of  the  "millionaire  philan- 

[   304  ] 


COLLEGE   AND   PULPIT 

thropist"  scheme  in  connection  with  North 
Manchester  College  will  probably  remain  for- 
ever the  exclusive  possession  of  Mr.  K.'s  soul. 
Others'  judgments  of  his  case  were  various. 
Some  thought  he  was  an  innocent  self-deceived 
visionary ;  others  concluded  that  he  was  a  delib- 
erate deceiver ;  others  thought  that  he  had  been 
made  sport  of  by  a  sharper,  who  pretended  to 
be  a  millionaire.  But  what  seemed  most  prob- 
able to  many  was  that  Mr.  K.  had  thought  that 
his  plan  of  giving  a  free  scholarship  to  every 
student  who  secured  five  other  pay  students 
would  insure  for  the  college  a  sufficiently  large 
patronage  to  carry  it  through,  and  that  he  had 
invented  the  millionaire  myth  as  an  incentive 
to  the  trustees  to  place  the  struggling  college 
in  his  hands,  on  the  theory  that  the  end  justi- 
fied the  means. 

Whatever  the  original  design  of  Mr.  K.  was, 
I  thanked  him  for  his  many  kindnesses  to  me 
and  faced  again  my  college  problem^,  saying  to 
myself,  "Wait  on  the  Lord ;  be  of  good  courage." 

My  few  months  of  college  life  in  North  Man- 

[   305   ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

Chester  were  not  unfmitful  of  good  things.  My 
close  contact  with  individuals  and  families  in  a 
typical  American  town  deepened  my  insight  into 
the  life  of  a  country  my  love  for  which  had  al- 
ready become  a  ruling  passion.  Within  the  col- 
lege I  enjoyed  the  excellent  opportunity  of 
observing  the  various  moods  of  American  youth, 
from  the  political,  social,  and  religious  points  of 
view.  The  few  regular  lessons  I  had  were  not 
without  their  guiding  influence  toward  system- 
atic thinking;  my  vocabulary  was  greatly  en- 
riched and  my  self-confidence  as  a  public 
speaker  much  strengthened.  And  not  the  least 
of  the  results  of  my  brief  career  as  a  "million- 
aire student "  was  the  following  smile  of  Fortune. 
During  my  last  week  in  the  ill-starred  col- 
lege, I  met  a  Methodist  minister  of  Des  Moines, 
Iowa,  the  Reverend  W.  A.  Wiseman,  whose 
three  children  were  among  our  students.  Mr. 
Wiseman  said  to  me  in  a  very  gracious,  compli- 
mentary manner  that,  two  days  before,  he  had 
heard  me  give  a  lecture  on  the  Orient,  with  some 
observations  on  American  life,  which  not  only 
[   306   ] 


COLLEGE  AND   PULPIT 

deeply  interested  him,  but  convinced  him  that 
I  had  a  message  which  the  general  public  needed 
to  hear.  Furthermore,  he  said  that  he  was  in  deep 
sympathy  with  my  purpose  to  secure  a  college 
education  and  enter  the  ministry.  Therefore, 
if  the  offer  met  my  approval,  he  would  like  to  be 
my  ''advance  agent''  and  plan  for  me  a  regular 
"lecture  tour"  in  the  Farther  West,  which 
would  bring  me  more  money  than  any  lecturing 
for  a  "collection"  could.  His  final  proposition 
was  that  he  would  give  me  two  hundred  dollars 
and  pay  all  my  expenses  for  twenty-four  con- 
secutive dates.  He  explained  that  since  I  was 
not  known  to  fame,  he  could  not  ask  a  higher 
price  for  a  lecture  than  twenty  or  twenty-five 
dollars,  and  that,  by  the  time  he  had  paid  all 
my  expenses,  the  cost  of  advertising  and  other 
incidentals,  his  share  of  the  proceeds  would  be 
much  smaller  than  mine. 

Of  course,  two  hundred  dollars  had  not  the 
hypnotic  charm  of  a  million,  but  it  was  the  big- 
gest sum  of  real  money  I  had  ever  fancied  my 
lecturing  would  bring  me  in  one  month.    I  did 

[   307  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

not  allow  Mr.  Wiseman  to  leave  my  room  before 

I  closed  the  contract  with  him. 

My  lecturing  tour  began  in  the  city  of  Des 
Moines,  most  auspiciously.  A  large  and  appre- 
ciative audience  gave  me  a  most  cordial  re- 
ception. The  "Iowa  State  Register"  published, 
the  following  day,  this  report  (in  all  probability 
written  by  Mr.  Wiseman):  "Mr.  A.  M.  Rih- 
bany,  a  native  of  the  Holy  Land,  lectured  at 
Grace  M.  E.  Church  last  night  to  a  large  and 
delighted  audience.  He  is  a  speaker  of  great 
ability  and  keeps  his  audience  in  fine  humor 
from  beginning  to  end.  No  lecture  given  in 
Grace  Church  ever  gave  such  universal  satis- 
faction." That  was  all  that  was  necessary  for 
us  to  "sweep"  the  State  of  Iowa  and  a  con- 
siderable portion  of  Illinois  Prosperity  and 
joy  attended  our  course,  at  the  end  of  which  I 
found  in  my  possession,  for  the  first  time,  tw^o 
hundred  dollars  in  real  "greenbacks."  Cer- 
tainly now  not  all  the  Fates  could  prevent  me 
from  securing  a  college  education. 

I I  Early  in  September,  1895, 1  matriculated  at 

[   308   ] 


COLLEGE  AND   PULPIT 

the  Ohio  Wesleyan  University.  My  fear  that  I 
might  not  be  able  to  complete  the  regular  course 
led  me  to  elect  a  special  course.  I  chose  my 
studies  as  a  boy  picks  apples  out  of  a  basket  — 
taking  the  biggest.  All  but  one  of  the  branches 
I  elected  came  in  the  Junior  and  Senior  years. 
To  the  protest  of  the  president  that  such  studies 
were  too  advanced  for  me,  I  answered  most 
conceitedly  that  I  should  be  very  willing  to  take 
less  advanced  studies  if  I  failed  to  measure  up  to 
the  other  students  in  those  higher  classes.  I  was 
permitted  to  follow  the  course  I  had  chosen. 
The  compassion  of  my  professors,  coupled 
with  some  effort  on  my  part,  prevented  me  from 
being  transferred  to  the  lower  classes. 

The  Ohio  Wesleyan  University  of  that  period 
was  suffering  from  that  affliction  which  was, 
and  to  a  large  extent  still  is,  common  to  denom- 
inational institutions.  As  a  rule,  its  professors 
were  chosen  not  so  much  with  reference  to  their 
qualifications  as  instructors  and  educators,  as 
to  their  doctrinal  "soundness."  Consequently 
the  university  was  heavily  over-preachered. 

[   309   ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

The  surplus  of  doctrinal  soundness  could  not 
be  used  to  make  up  the  deficit  occurring  on  the 
educational  side.  But  the.  branches  in  which  I 
was  deeply  interested  —  psychology,  ethics, 
history,  and  English  literature  —  were  taught 
by  two  professors  who  were  considered  the  most 
modem  and  efficient  in  the  entire  institution, 
and  the  pioneers  of  a  new  era  of  ampler  educa- 
tional facilities  and  greater  usefulness,  which 
the  university  now  enjoys.  They  had  "a  vital 
touch  to  them,"  and  their  methods  stimu- 
lated thought  and  encouraged  independent  re- 
search. 

At  the  end  of  my  second  term  in  college,  I 
became  agaii.  **  financially  embarrassed."  In 
view  of  the  fact  that  among  the  eight  hundred 
students  there  were  many  "local  preachers" 
who  were  endeavoring  to  make  their  way 
through  college  by  preaching  in  the  churches  for 
miles  around,  my  opportunities  for  lecturing 
and  preaching  were  greatly  limited.  Was  it  not, 
therefore,  the  part  of  wisdom  for  me  to  leave 
college  for  a  time  and  reenter  the  lecture  field 

[   310   ] 


Ma^ 


COLLEGE  AND   PULPIT 

with  my  friend  Mr.  Wiseman,  secure  the  neces- 
sary funds,  and  return  to  the  university  the 
following  September?  So  it  seemed  to  me  and 
to  my  good  professors,  who,  while  regretting 
the  emergency  which  made  such  a  course  neces- 
sary, earnestly  hoped  for  my  return  to  them  in 
the  autumn. 

And  here  I  wish  to  quote  a  generous  message 
which  came  to  me  from  my  professor  in  history 
(whom  I  have  not  seen  since  I  left  college)  at 
the  conclusion  of  my  series  of  articles  in  the 
"Atlantic  Monthly'':  — 

Delaware,  Ohio, 

March  26,  1914. 
Dear  Sir  and  Brother, — Your  articles  in 
the  "Atlantic  Monthly"  have  been  much  en- 
joyed in  our  home.  The  name  had  a  familiar 
sound  to  me,  yet  I  did  not  trace  its  familiarity 
until  in  the  last  "Atlantic"  I  read  that  you 
were  in  the  Ohio  Wesleyan  University  in  1895. 
This  led  me  to  look  up  the  class-rolls  of  that 
term,  the  fall,  and  there  I  found  your  name  in 
the  list  of  a  goodly  class  which  was  at  work  upon 
[   311    1 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

the  Middle  Ages.  I  also  noticed  that  your  grade 
was  one  of  the  best  in  the  class. 

What  a  fine  thing  it  is  for  you,  a  stranger,  to 
give  such  lessons  of  grateful  appreciation  of  the 
free  air  of  America  to  many  of  our  young 
people  who,  I  fear,  do  not  know  to  what  they 
have  been  bom.  Let  me  thank  you  for  what 
you  have  said  to  them  in  so  bright  and  attrac- 
tive a  fashion,  not  alloyed  with  pessimism,  but 
radiant  with  real  faith  in  God  and  man.  May 
you  have  great  good  for  your  portion.  The  Ohio 
Wesleyan  University  is  trying  to  do  her  best 
for  this  generation. 

With  best  wishes  and  appreciation, 
Sincerely  yours, 

R.  T.  Stevenson. 

When,  about  the  middle  of  March,  1896,  I 
left  the  Ohio  Wesleyan  University  for  the  little 
town  of  Morenci,  Michigan,  where  my  friends 
had  moved  from  Wauseon,  Ohio,  and  where  I 
was  destined  to  live  for  several  years,  I  little 
dreamed  that  I  should  never  see  a  college  again 
[  312  ] 


COLLEGE   AND   PULPIT 

as  a  student.  In  April  and  May  I  "toured  the 
West"  again  as  a  lecturer,  and  again  in  August. 
Shortly  after  my  return  to  Morenci,  the  Meth- 
odist minister  called  on  me  on  a  Friday  evening 
and  requested  me  to  preach  in  his  stead  at  a 
union  meeting  of  all  the  churches  of  the  town, 
to  be  held  in  the  Congregational  Church  on  the 
following  Sunday  evening.  The  time  for  prep- 
aration was  short,  but  the  request  was  urgent 
and  I  consented  to  serve.  In  my  brief  diary  of 
that  year,  written  in  Arabic,  I  find  the  following 
entry,  literally  translated:  "Saturday,  Septem- 
ber 5  —  Spent  the  greater  part  of  this  day  in 
preparing  myself  for  a  sermon  which  I  will 
preach  in  the  Congregational  Church  here  at  a 
general  (union)  meeting." 

On  the  following  Sunday  evening  a  large  au- 
dience taxed  the  capacity  of  the  Congregational 
Church.  My  text  was  from  Luke  xii,  48:  "To 
whomsoever  much  is  given,  of  him  shall  much 
be  required."  The  cordial  eagerness  of  my  au- 
ditors was  inspiring,  and  I  spoke  from  the 
depth  of  my  souL 

[  313   I 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

At  the  close  of  the  service  many  of  my  hearers 
were  most  generous  with  their  appreciative 
remarks ;  as  typical  Americans  they  believed  in 
encouraging  a  beginner,  in  "helping  a  fellow 
along/'  But  my  sermon  on  that  evening  brought 
to  me  other  significant  and  utterly  unexpected 
results.  During  the  following  week  the  senior 
deacon  of  the  Congregational  Church  came  to 
me  with  the  following,  to  me  most  astonishing, 
proposition.  **Our  people,"  he  said,  "were  so 
pleased  with  your  sermon  last  Sunday  night 
that  they  have  directed  me  to  ask  you  if  you 
would  not  take  charge  of  our  pulpit  for  the 
coming  winter  and  become  our  regular  pastor." 
For  the  moment  I  could  not  believe  that  the 
good  man  was  really  serious  in  what  he  said. 
"I  to  become  your  regular  pastor.?"  was  my 
astonished  question  to  him.  "Yes,  if  you  will," 
he  replied  with  a  very  genial  smile. 

To  my  objection  on  the  ground  that  my  Eng- 
lish was  as  yet  barbarous,  and  utterly  unfit  for 
devotional  services ;  that  I  had  not  had  a  college 
or  theological  education,  and  had  not  the  slight- 

[  314  ] 


COLLEGE  AND   PULPIT 

est  knowledge  of  pastoral  duties,  he  replied  to 
the  effect  that  colleges  did  not  really  make 
preachers ;  that  although  I  did  at  times  split  the 
infinitive  and  use  an  adjective  where  an  adverb 
should  have  been  used,  all  such  matters  were 
of  small  importance.  "There  is  something 
vital  in  your  utterances,"  he  added,  "and  it  is 
that  something  which  we  are  after.  Your  em- 
phasizing the  wrong  word  or  syllable  now  and 
then  gives  your  message  a  pleasant  flavor.  As 
to  pastoral  duties,  you  will  learn  them  as 
you  go.'' 

Notwithstanding  the  fact  that  the  gracious 
words  of  the  deacon  greatly  expanded  my  youth- 
ful vanity,  I  did  not  feel  vain  enough  to  accept 
the  offer.  I  consented,  however,  to  supply  the 
pulpit  of  the  Congregational  Church  for  a  few 
Sundays  before  going  West  on  another  lecturing 
tour.  So  I  did.  But  upon  my  return  from  the 
West,  those  good  Congregationalists  renewed 
their  offer  to  me  with  greater  insistence  and 
cordiality,  and  again  I  consented  only  to  supply 
their  pulpit  for  a  season. 

[  31S  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

But,  on  this  occasion,  I  urged  another  objec- 
tion to  my  becoming  the  regular  pastor  of  a 
church.  About  that  time  the  entire  country  was 
on  fire  with  poUtical  excitement.  The  campaign 
of  1896,  one  of  the  most  agitating,  most  spec- 
tacular campaigns  in  the  history  of  America, 
was  upon  us,  and,  as  a  true  patriot,  fired  with 
the  zeal  of  a  new  convert,  I  decided  to  remain 
free  from  the  limitations  of  a  ministerial  posi- 
tion in  order  that  I  might  "serve  my  country 
politically."  I  would  first  do  my  utmost  to 
save  the  nation  from  the  '*  disgrace  and  ulti- 
mate ruin  of  cheap  money."  Bimetallism, 
**sixteen-to-one,"  the  double  standard,  and 
other  heresies,  seemed  to  me  to  be  like  small- 
pox, cancer,  and  diphtheria,  which  must  be 
stamped  out  at  whatever  cost.  I  would  preach 
on  Sundays  to  the  best  of  my  ability  under  the 
circumstances,  but  on  all  other  days  I  would 
place  myself  on  the  altar  of  the  "Gold  Stand- 
ard," the  savior  of  the  commercial  integrity  of 
the  nation. 

I  devoted  myself  unreservedly  to  the  study  of 
[  316  ] 


COLLEGE   AND   PULPIT 

the  monetary  question.  You  might  not  think 
that  my  sources  —  campaign  documents  — 
were  the  most  reHable,  but  they  were  the  only 
means  at  hand,  and  the  time  was  short.  Besides, 
they  had  been  pubHshed  by  RepubHcans  whose 
learning  and  veracity  I  had  no  reason  to  sus- 
pect—  chiefly  because  the  RepubHcan  party 
had  "saved  the  Union"  in  1861-65,  long  before 
I  was  bom./ 

I  did  make  several  speeches  which  met  with 
the  heartiest  approval  of  my  fellow  citizens  — 
the  Republicans.  One  of  them,  an  influential 
leader  in  local  politics,  said  to  me  one  day, 
"You  can't  convince  me  that  you  had  never 
studied  the  monetary  problem  before  this  cam- 
paign. You  must  have  studied  it  in  Europe  or 
somewhere  else.  I  have  learned  more  from  you 
on  the  present  issue  than  from  those  '  big  guns' 
that  the  State  Central  Committee  sends  to  us. 
You  ought  to  head  for  the  Legislature  instead 
of  the  pulpit.  Do  let  us  start  the  'boom'  for 
the  next  state  campaign." 

The  suggested  "boom"  had  no  attraction  for 

[  317  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

me.  Mygoalwas  the  pulpit.  But  I  was  decidedly 
proud  of  what  I  did  in  that  great  campaign.  No 
king,  I  believe,  ever  felt^more  exalted  with  his 
crown  and  scepter  than  I  did  whenever  I  said 
*'My  country!"  Just  think  of  me,  the  child  of 
ages  of  oppression,  now  having  a  great  country 
to  serve,  to  defend,  nay,  to  save  from  impend- 
ing ruin!  It  was  undefiled  glory  to  address  **my 
fellow  citizens,"  even  to  carry  a  torch  —  a 
lighted  one  —  and  join  the  procession  under  the 
Stars  and  Stripes. 

The  country  having  been  "saved"  at  the 
election,  I  turned  my  undivided  attention  again 
to  the  ministry.  The  Congregationalists  of 
Morenci  were  still  waiting  for  me  with  the  at- 
tractive offer  to  become  their  pastor;  my  rela- 
tions with  them  had  been  growing  more  plea- 
sant as  time  passed,  and,  after  much  hesitation 
and  with  some  misgivings  as  to  my  fitness  for 
the  position,  I  accepted  the  "call"  and  post- 
poned indefinitely  the  matter  of  my  return  to 
college. 

It  may  not  be  uninteresting  to  the  reader  to 

[  318  ] 


COLLEGE  AND   PULPIT 

know  that  I  did  not  come  into  the  office  of  a 
pastor  alone.  The  romance  of  "love  at  first 
sight"  had  already  occurred;  Cupid's  arrows, 
which  no  barriers  of  race  or  language  can 
check,  had  already  pierced  two  hearts,  the  one 
Semitic,  the  other  Aryan,  and  made  them  bleed 
for  one  another.  The  sacred  union,  which  the 
Church  blesses  and  the  State  makes  legal,  fol- 
lowed, and  brought  to  my  side  an  American 
wife  from  Ohio  to  share  with  me  the  trials  and 
triumphs  of  the  ministry.  And  it  may  interest 
the  reader  to  know  also  that  notwithstanding 
the  fact  that,  in  reporting  this  marriage,  the 
editor  of  the  "Ohio  State  Journal"  used  the 
heading,  "An  Ohio  School  Teacher  Has  Poor 
Taste,"  I  have  already  forgiven  him,  for  he 
knew  not  what  he  did  —  he  never  saw  me. 

Now  before  undertaking  to  write  concerning 
the  Gospel  which  I  felt  commissioned  to  preach 
when  I  assumed  the  office  of  a  Christian  minis- 
ter, I  wish  to  mention  an  event  which  bears  a 
very  close  relation  to  my  political  activities. 
WTien  war  between  this   country  and  Spain 

[  319  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

seemed  inevitable,  I  decided  that  if  the  circum- 
stances required  I  would  enlist,  not  as  a  chap- 
lain, but  as  a  private  soldier.  Consequently  I 
wrote  to  my  father  with  regard  to  the  matter, 
begging  not  only  his  opinion  but  his  consent. 
Having  in  mind  the  warlike  spirit  of  the  Rih- 
bany  clan,  I  was  not  very  greatly  astonished 
when  I  received  the  following  letter :  — 

Betater,  Lebanon,  Syria. 
To  our  Beloved  and  Honored  Son,  may  God  pro- 
tect him:  — 
We  send  you  our  intense  love  and  parental 
blessings  from  the  depth  of  our  hearts  which 
are  deeply  wounded  for  your  absence,  for  you 
are  the  possessor  of  our  hearts  in  life  and  in 
death.  We  ask  daily  the  mighty  God  to  bless 
you  and  keep  you  and  multiply  the  fruits  of  the 
labor  of  your  hands.  Your  letter  is  received  and 
we  thank  God  that  you  and  your  honorable 
wife  are  safe  and  well.  We  learn  from  your  let- 
ter that  there  is  war  between  your  government 
and  that  of  Spain  and  that  you  intend  to  enlist 
if  needed.  This  news  causes  us  intense  anxiety 
[  320  ] 


COLLEGE   AND   PULPIT 

and  life  seems  worthless  without  you.  Never- 
theless, O  dear  son,  such  being  the  case,  we  com- 
mit you  to  God,  hoping  that  His  mighty  arm 
may  protect  you.  First  we  ask  that  God  may 
bring  peace  on  earth;  and  second  we  beseech 
you,  O  our  son,  not  to  shrink  from  entering  the 
army  to  fight  for  your  government.  We  know 
that  you  are  brave,  and  bravery  is  character- 
istic of  your  clan  and  ancestors.  As  long  as  you 
are  an  American  citizen,  you  must  fight  for  your 
exalted  government,  and  not  only  you,  but  if 
your  brothers  can  help  fight  your  enemies  we 
would  gladly  send  them  over  to  America.  Amer- 
ica has  done  much  for  you,  and  you  ought  to 
pay  her  back  by  fighting  her  enemies  as  an  honor- 
able man.  We  hope  to  see  your  luminous,  smil- 
ing face  again,  but  let  us  say,  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, "  God's  will  be  done."  Your  mother 
sends  a  thousand  kisses  to  you  and  your  wife. 
The  Reverend  Father,  our  priest  Michael,  sends 
also  his  rich  blessing. 
May  God  prolong  your  days. 

Your  Father. 
[  321   ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

Here  I  had  not  only  my  father's  consent,  but 
his  mandate,  to  enhst.  But  Spain  was  consider- 
ate enough  to  give  up  the  fight  before  I  deemed 
it  necessary  to  don  the  "blue." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

AT  THE   TEMPLE    GATE 

When  I  first  came  into  the  pulpit  as  a  regular 
minister,  I  was  granted  a  salary  of  six  hundred 
dollars  a  year  and  a  "donation"  —  that  is,  the 
proceeds  of  an  annual  church  supper  at  which 
the  guests  were  supposed  to  pay  more  than  the 
repast  was  worth.  The  success  of  the  donation 
depended  largely  on  the  weather.  I  was  simply 
a  layman  in  earnest.  The  conventional  phrase- 
ology of  the  pulpit  was  well-nigh  unknown  to 
me.  I  prayed  at  the  sacred  desk  as  simply  as  in 
my  secret  chamber,  and  preached  in  an  unaf- 
fected conversational  tone. 

As  has  been  already  indicated,  I  had  had  no 
college  education,  no  familiarity  with  authori- 
tative systems  of  theology,  and  no  extensive 
memories  of  creeds  and  catechisms.  I  was  su- 
premely conscious  of  one  great  fact,  namel}^, 
that  by  my  sincere  and  reverential  consent  to 
serve  in  the  office  of  a  Christian  minister,  I  was 

[  323    ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

ordained  to  preach  the  Gospel  of  Christ  in  the 
simphcity  of  the  New  Testament  and  not  neces- 
sarily as  it  has  been  restated  by  any  group  of 
theologians.  This  attitude  toward  the  minis- 
terial office  was  the  cumulative  result  of  all 
my  religious  past. 

Having  departed  from  the  Greek  Church  in 
my  youth,  I  carried  away  with  me  from  that 
fold  not  doctrines,  but  religious  feelings.  My 
Mother  Church  exerted  upon  me  unconscious, 
mystic,  indefinable  spiritual  influences.  In  the 
almost  entire  absence  of  preaching  in  that  church 
doctrines  are  only  implied  in  the  ritual,  not  di- 
rectly taught  to  the  laity.  As  a  Greek  Orthodox, 
I  simply  took  it  for  granted  that  the  tenets  of 
the  faith  of  my  church  were  absolutely  correct. 

Wlien  I  first  came  in  contact  with  Protes- 
tantism in  the  American  mission  school  at  Suk- 
el-Gharb,  that  faith  appealed  to  me  as  a  more 
stimulating,  more  enlightened,  and  more  en- 
lightening form  of  the  Christian  religion  than 
the  one  into  which  I  was  born.  It  was  the  in- 
tellectual and  ethical  phases  of  Protestantism 

[   324  ] 


AT   THE   TEMPLE  GATE 

which  drew  me  away  from  the  less  reflective 
faith  of  my  fathers.  True,  here  I  was  taught 
doctrine,  but  always  with  the  understanding 
that  Protestantism  was  the  Christianity  of  the 
open  Bible,  the  individual  conscience  and  pri- 
vate interpretation.  Consequently,  in  that 
early  period  of  my  religious  history,  whenever 
I  glanced  over  the  scroll  of  my  destiny,  and  in 
so  far  as  I  was  able  to  do  so,  I  thought  of  my- 
self as  a  jree  man  in  Christ. 

When  I  left  my  father's  house  in  far-oflF 
Lebanon  and  came  to  the  New  World  to  struggle 
and  to  suffer,  it  was  not  the  learned  polemics  and 
authoritative  creeds  of  theologians  which  kept 
my  heart  from  breaking.  It  was  God,  the  com- 
passionate Father,  and  Christ,  the  triumphant 
fellow-sufferer,  who  said  to  me,  "  Fear  not,  be 
not  dismayed."  It  was  He  who  loves  us  more 
than  a  mother  loves  her  babe  who  walked  with 
me  the  rough  road  of  hunger  and  nakedness  and 
loneliness,  and  was  with  me  in  the  musty  dark- 
ness of  the  tenement  houses  of  New  York,  as  a 
strengthening  and  consoling  presence. 

[  325  ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

In  my  travels  in  this  country  before  I  en- 
tered the  pulpit  I  studied  Christianity  not  in 
catechisms  but  in  the  faces  and  characters  and 
helpful  deeds  of  living  men  and  women  of  all 
creeds  and  no  creed.  I  never  knew  the  exact 
doctrinal  positions  of  such  persons.  What  I 
was  aware  of  was  that  by  their  reverential  and 
friendly  attitude  toward  God  and  man,  by  the 
sanctity  of  their  lives  and  their  readiness  to  aid 
every  good  endeavor,  such  men  and  women  ad- 
dressed themselves  to  my  inmost  soul  as  fresh 
revelations  of  the  divine  spirit  and  as  inspiring 
examples  of  the  Christ-life. 

Now,  do  you  suppose  that  when  I  came  into 
the  pulpit  to  break  the  bread  of  life  to  my  con- 
gregation, I  was  going  to  close  my  eyes  to  all 
these  open  visions  of  the  spiritual  life,  my  Prot- 
estant freedom  and  the  simplicity  of  the  New 
Testament,  and  turn  to  dusty  and  musty  theo- 
logical documents  to  find  my  faith,  my  God,  and 
f  my  Christ  ?   To  do  so  seemed  to  me  to  be  like 
'\  forsaking  my  newly  acquired  freedom  as  an 
American  citizen  and  returning  to  the  bondage 
[  326  ] 


AT   THE   TEMPLE  GATE 

of  Turkish  rule.  No ;  as  God  revealed  himself 
to  Isaiah  and  Paul,  so  He  reveals  himself  to  me 
and  to  every  soul  that  seeks  Him.  The  Council 
of  Nicsea,  or  any  other  council,  had  no  more 
right  to  make  an  authoritative  and  infallible 
creed  for  the  succeeding  generations  than  it  had 
the  right  to  make  an  infallible  bill  of  fare  for 
every  age  and  race. 

With  such  ideas  and  convictions  as  my  back- 
ground, I  preached  to  my  people  with  the  ut- 
most directness  and  sincerity  of  which  I  was 
capable.  My  hearers  often  told  me  that  I  did 
not  preach  "after  the  usual  manner,"  to  which 
I  answered  that  I  did  not  know  what  the  "usual 
manner"  was.  We  loved  one  another.  Our 
church  prospered  to  the  extent  that  we  had  to 
build  an  addition  to  our  auditorium  in  order  to 
accommodate  our  growing  congregations  and 
church  activities. 

During  my  ministry  of  nearly  three  years  at 
Morenci,  as  I  had  no  public  library  at  hand  and 
as  I  had  but  few  books  of  my  own,  my  reading 
was  of  necessity  miscellaneous.    My  theolog- 

[   327   ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

ical  library  consisted  of  two  commentaries  on 
the  Bible:  the  one  (written  in  the  seventeenth 
century)  given  to  me  by, a  friend;  the  other 
(written  in  the  eighteenth  century)  I  bought 
from  an  enterprising  publisher  at  a  "slaughter 
sale  of  epoch-making  books."  Both  of  these 
commentaries  are  treasure-houses  of  precon- 
ceived ideas  regarding  God's  attitude  toward 
man  and  the  universe.  But  during  those  years 
three  books  of  quite  different  type  fell  into  my 
hands.  The  first  was  "The  Apostolic  Age,"  by 
Professor  A.  C.  McGiffert,  concerning  which, 
when  I  had  read  it,  I  concluded  that  its  author 
believed  in  making  use  of  his  mental  faculties 
and  his  reason  even  when  writing  "sacred  his- 
tory." The  other  two  were  "The  Theology  of 
Civilization,"  and  "The  Religion  of  a  Gentle- 
man," both  by  the  Reverend  Charles  F.  Dole, 
D.D.,  of  Boston.  These  books  convinced  me  not 
only  that  their  author  was  a  truly  civilized  man, 
but  that  he  had  succeeded  in  sounding  the 
spiritual  depths  of  human  interrelations. 
But  my  real  book  of  theology  was  the  New 
[  328  ] 


AT   THE   TEMPLE  GATE 

Testament.  I  read  it  with  the  freedom  with 
which  the  Master  read  the  Old  Testament  in  his 
day  —  as  the  freeman  of  the  Spirit  and  not  the 
bondman  of  the  letter.  I  read  it  in  my  study,  on 
trains,  and  in  railway  stations,  with  all  my 
spiritual  facuhies  alert,  not  so  much  to  know 
what  every  single  text  meant  as  to  discover  the 
controlling  purpose  of  the  whole  book. 

It  is  indeed  most  difficult,  if  not  impossible, 
to  analyze  the  religious  consciousness  chronolog- 
ically. But  the  fixing  of  dates  and  the  defining 
of  eras  is  not  necessary  here,  because  I  am  not 
writing  a  diary  of  events  but  trying  to  make  a  1  a 
confession  of  faith.  What  I  feel  certain  of  is  that 
no  person  can  read  the  records  of  the  spiritual 
life,  as  they  are  inscribed  in  the  souls  of  well- 
meaning,  kindly  disposed  men  and  women,  and 
the  New  Testament,  with  reverent  freedom, 
—  taking  into  consideration  the  mentality  and 
the  social  habits  of  the  times  and  country  in 
which  it  was  written,  —  without  feeling  up- 
borne by  a  spiritual  tide  high  above  all  creeds 
and  dogmas.    It  was  such  a  state  of  mind  of 

[  329  ] 


,1^ 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

which  I  became  intensely  conscious  during  my 
second  year  in  the  pulpit.  The  words  of  the 
Master,  "Love  the  Lord  thy  God  with  all  thy 
heart,  and  thy  neighbor  as  thyself,"  and,  "On 
these  two  commandments  hang  all  the  law  and 
the  prophets,"  held  undisputed  sway  over  all 
my  thoughts  and  words.  For  me  Christianity 
shook  itself  free  from  all  divisive  dogmas  and 
appeared  as  the  religion  of  brotherly  love,  of 
trust  and  salvation,  and  not  of  fear  and  damna- 
tion. All  good  men  of  whatever  creed  or  na- 
tionality seemed  to  me  to  be  friends  and  dis- 
ciples of  Christ.  In  this  frame  of  mind  I  could 
not,  of  course,  be  an  efficient  helper  at  those 
"revivals"  at  which  professional  "evangel- 
ists" consigned  to  hell  the  majority  of  man- 
kind. A  revival  alw^ays  seemed  to  me  more  like 
a  tragedy,  poorly  acted,  than  a  profound  spirit- 
ual experience.  Whenever  the  evangelist  would 
compress  the  message  and  mission  of  Christ  so 
as  to  fit  the  narrow  dimensions  of  his  own  par- 
ticular view  of  Protestantism,  and  urge  his 
hearers  (and  by  implication  the  world  at  large) 


AT   THE   TEMPLE  GATE 

to  believe  or  perish,  my  whole  soul  would  say 
no.  He  who  has  taught  us  to  forgive  "  seventy 
times  seven,"  and  to  love  our  enemies,  will  not 
torture  his  enemies  forever. 

As  all  thoughts  gravitate  toward  expression, 
and  in  view  of  the  fact  that  I  never  intended 
to  believe  one  thing  and  preach  another,  as 
time  passed,  my  pulpit  utterances  became  in- 
creasingly infected  with  liberalism.  In  propor- 
tion as  the  spiritual  Christ  prevailed  with  me 
over  the  dogmatic  Christ,  I  felt  the  limitations 
of  my  theological  environment  and  the  suspi- 
cions of  the  conservatives  in  the  community. 
My  conception  of  my  newly  acquired  freedom 
as  priceless  made  me  decidedly  inhospitable 
to  arbitrary  restraints.  When  on  one  occasion 
one  of  my  deacons  advised  me  to  keep  my 
"broad  views"  to  myself  and  preach  the  "ac- 
cepted doctrines,"  I  answered  rather  abruptly 
that  I  and  my  forefathers  for  centuries  had 
suffered  enough  political  and  religious  repres- 
sion ;  that  I  had  not  learned  my  "  broad  views  " 
at  any  heretical  school.  My  teachers  were  Con- 

[  331   ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

gregational  Protestantism  and  Americanism, 
both  of  which  urged  me  to  "stand  fast  in  the 
freedom  wherewith  Christ  hath  made  us  free." 

Shortly  after  the  close  of  the  Spanish-Ameri- 
can War,  at  the  urgent  invitation  of  my  parents, 
who  longed  to  *' behold  my  face  again  before 
death  parted  us,"  and  to  "revive  their  hearts 
by  beholding  the  Lady,  my  beloved  American 
wife,"  I  visited  Syria.  The  people  of  Betater, 
both  aristocrats  and  commoners,  gave  us  a 
royal  welcome.  All  the  clans  of  the  town  called 
on  us  in  fifties  and  hundreds.  Invitations  to 
feasts  were  more  than  we  could  accept.  For 
the  time  being,  the  aristocrats  admitted  me 
into  their  ranks  with  cheerful  generosity  as 
"a  man  who  had  progressed  much  in  the  land 
of  efrenjy 

How  did  the  old  home  appear  to  me  after  an 
absence  of  seven  years?  Well,  from  the  pre- 
tentious buildings  of  Beyrout  to  the  ordinary 
dwellings  of  Betater,  everything  seemed  to  me 
amazingly  small.  The  scale  of  my  vision  had 
been  so  enlarged  in  giant  America  that  upon 
[  332   ] 


AT   THE   TEMPLE   GATE 

my  arrival  in  Betater  the  place  seemed  to  me 
for  all  the  world  like  a  kindergarten.  And  what 
was  even  more  astonishing  to  me  was  my  un- 
conscious departure  from  many  of  the  customs 
of  my  people.  The  friendliness  of  the  Syrians 
is  very  inquisitive.  It  has  very  little  regard  for 
what  Americans  call  "private  matters."  On 
the  very  evening  of  our  arrival,  old  friends 
assailed  me  with  a  multitude  of  questions  which 
could  be  answered  only  by  the  laying  bare  of 
both  my  outer  and  inner  worlds.  One  day  an 
acquaintance,  whom  I  had  forgotten  altogether, 
arrived  at  our  home.  He  said  to  me  that  he  had 
journeyed  two  hours  for  the  purpose  of  seeing 
my  ''blessed  face,"  and  to  inquire  particularly 
as  to  how  much  money  I  had  —  in  all  —  and 
how  I  managed  to  get  an  American  wife.  Of 
course  I  was  asked  by  many  how  old  my  Ameri- 
can wife  was,  and  whether  the  "clear  color  in 
her  face  was  natural''  It  required  all  the  Yan 
kee  shrewdness  I  had  acquired  in  America  to 
evade  such  questions  without  giving  offense. 
But  while  on  that  memorable  trip  I  saw  again 

[   333    ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

Thabitah  ("th"  as  in  "three"),  my  first  love, 
and  the  charmer  of  my  childhood.  Thabitah 
was  the  daughter  of  the  owner  of  the  double 
house  into  which  our  family  was  ushered  on 
our  arrival  in  Betater  in  1875. 

Her  parents  occupied  one  half  of  the  house, 
and  we  the  other  half.  Thabitah  was  bom 
when  I  was  about  eight  years  old,  and,  after 
the  custom  of  the  country,  I  was  made  to  be- 
lieve by  my  parents  and  her  parents  that  her 
"star"  and  my  "star"  were  in  "harmony"; 
therefore  we  were  destined  to  marry  one  an- 
other. Real  "matches"  are  made  occasionally 
in  Syria  after  this  manner,  but  in  the  present 
case  I  was  simply  the  victim  of  a  joke.  But 
being  innocent  of  the  frolicsome  designs  of  our 
parents,  I  became  deeply  enamored  of  the 
black-eyed  infant.  No  knight-errant  was  ever 
more  ready  to  do  the  bidding  of  his  lady  than 
I  was  to  do  the  errands  which  her  mother  asked 
me  to  do,  and  she  was  very  free  and  generous  in 
her  demands.  One  day  my  mother  missed  m^e 
and  went  about  searching  for  her  lost  boy. 

[  334  ] 


AT   THE   TEMPLE  GATE 

After  a  long  search  in  the  neighborhood  I  was 
found  fast  sleep  under  Thabitah's  old-fashioned 
cradle. 

When  I  saw  Thabitah  again  on  my  last  visit 
to  Syria  she  was  on  her  way  from  the  public 
oven  (bakery).  Her  graceful  figure  swayed 
under  about  eighty  loaves  of  bread,  which  she 
carried  on  a  tray  on  her  head.  "Thabitah," 
said  I,  "our  stars  did  not  prove  in  harmony. 
You  have  married  another  man,  and  I  have 
been  joined  in  wedlock  to  an  American  lady. 
But  for  old  love's  sake  permit  me  to  take  your 
picture,  just  as  you  are,  with  this  American 
camera."  With  a  genial  smile,  Thabitah  stood 
in  front  of  the  awfully  mysterious  machine, 
and  thus  enabled  me  to  secure  her  image  and 
carry  it  away  to  the  strange  country  beyond 
the  seas. 

At  the  invitation  of  our  old  parish  priest  we 
attended  mass  in  the  church  of  my  earlier  years. 
Contrary  to  the  rules,  two  chairs  were  placed 
for  us  near  the  reader's  desk,  where  I  used  to 
stand  during  mass  before  I  left  the  Church  of 

[  335   ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

my  fathers.  There  I  gazed  again  at  the  old  Miz- 
peh,  —  altar  of  sacrifice,  —  the  robed  priest, 
the  pictures  of  saints,  the  candlesticks,  and  the 
worshiping  congregation.  The  priest  sent  us 
two  pieces  of  the  korban  —  consecrated  bread 
—  with  which  distinguished  members  of  the 
congregation  are  favored  during  mass,  and 
which  is  the  symbolic  remnant  of  the  sacred 
feast  which  was  eaten  at  religious  gatherings  in 
bygone  days.  That  sense  of  reverence  which  I 
have  never  failed  to  experience  in  a  house  of 
worship  of  whatever  faith,  invested  the  hour 
with  solemnity.  Nevertheless,  what  I  had  be- 
come in  the  New  World  could  not  be  easily 
reconciled  to  what  I  had  been  in  the  Old  World. 
The  service  awakened  in  me  old  feelings  and 
sentiments,  but  they  were  such  feelings  and 
sentiments  as  one  experiences  while  turning 
over  the  pages  of  an  old  picture-book  with 
which  one  had  been  familiar  in  childhood. 

As  I  looked  at  the  worshipers  before  me  gaz- 
ing reverently  at  those  material  objects,  made 
sacred  to  them  by  long  associations,  I  said  to 

[  336  ] 


THABITAH 


AT   THE    TEMPLE   GATE 

myself,  Suppose  that  all  these  objects  were 
taken  away  from  these  persons,  would  they 
still  know  what  their  religion  was  ?  To  the  re- 
mote ancestors  of  these  men,  Jesus  spoke  in 
simple,  fluid,  living  parables.  Those  parables 
have  become  hardened  into  material  objects  in 
the  ancient  ecclesiastical  communions,  and  into 
rigid  creeds  at  the  hands  of  more  modem  theo- 
logians. Christ  recognized  neither  of  these 
forms.  There  is  no  greater  warrant  in  his  Gos- 
pel for  an  inflexible  creed  than  for  this  lavish 
spectacle.  Let  those  who  find  religious  inspira- 
tion in  such  forms  have  them.  For  my  part, 
I  prefer  that  Christianity  which  was  preached 
on  the  Mount,  by  the  seaside,  at  Jacob's  Well, 
and  in  the  upper  room  on  Mount  Zion  —  the 
Christianity  of  the  open  air  and  the  open  mJnd. 
The  governmental,  religious,  and  social  In^ 
stitutions  of  the  land  of  my  birth  seemed  to  me* 
to  be  in  distressing  harmony  with  one  another, 
and  turned  my  gaze  with  a  profounder  sense  of 
appreciation  toward  forward-looking  America, 
the  land  of  light,  liberty,  and  active  hopefulness, 

[   337   ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

I  felt,  as  never  before,  that  as  an  American  citi- 
zen my  religion  must  be  as  free,  as  progressive, 
and  as  hopeful  as  the  genius  of  my  adopted 
country. 

While  on  that  voyage  and  during  a  short 
stay  in  Naples  and  in  England,  whenever  I 
found  myself  in  the  company  of  an  enlightened 
person,  whether  preacher  or  layman,  I  took  the 
opportunity  to  discuss  with  that  person  the 
"present  state  of  the  religious  world."  Of  the 
clerical  orders,  I  conversed  with  Catholics, 
Anglicans,  Congregationalists,  and  Unitarians. 
Wliat  was  pleasantly  surprising  to  me  in  all 
such  conversations  w^as  the  fact  that  almost 
every  person  with  whom  I  discussed  the  mo- 
mentous question  of  religion  impressed  me 
with  the  idea  that  discontent  with  many  of  the 
old  statements  of  religion,  and  a  desire  for  new 
and  more  enlightened  ones,  was  very  strong 
among  many  men  in  all  communions.  By  all 
this  I  was  much  encouraged  and  confirmed  in 
my  belief  that  in  my  limited  sphere  I  was  facing 
the  light  of  a  new  and  happier  day. 
[  338  ] 


AT   THE   TEMPLE  GATE 

But  when,  upon  returning  to  America,  I 
made  my  views  more  fully  known  in  my  Michi- 
gan parish,  I  was  met  with  more  determxined  op- 
position. As  usually  happens  in  such  cases,  a 
very  lively  local  theological  controversy  of  a 
few  months'  duration,  which  in  all  probability 
would  not  have  assumed  such  significance  in  a 
larger  center  of  population,  agitated  and  en- 
tertained the  community.  Of  the  many  amus- 
ing incidents  which  occurred  during  that  con- 
troversy, the  following  are  samples. 

After  hearing  one  of  my  liberal  sermons,  an 
elderly  gentleman  of  impenetrable  conserva- 
tism, was  asked  what  he  thought  of  the  dis- 
course. "Well,  sir,''  was  his  prompt  and  de- 
cisive answer,  "it  is  the  surest  way  to  hell  that 
I  know  of." 

A  good  Methodist,  an  old  man  of  saintly 
purity,  called  on  me  one  day  to  express  his  re- 
grets at  my  departure  from  "sound  doctrine." 
At  my  invitation,  the  good  man  dined  with  us. 
In  the  course  of  our  conversation,  he  assured 
me  that  I  was  in  danger  of  eternal  damnation 

[  339  1 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

because,  in  the  sight  of  God,  I  was  no  better 
than  a  drunlcard.  "But,"  I  asked,  "Brother 
G.,  if  the  matter  were  left  to  you,  would  you 
throw  me  into  such  a  lake  of  fire  and  brim- 
stone as  you  believe  hell  to  be?"  "Of  course 
not.  I  wouldn't  do  it."  "Don't  you  think, 
Brother  G.,  that  God  is  as  sensible  and  as  good 
as  you  are?"  With  no  little  perplexity  Mr.  G. 
said,  "He  must  be  much  better  than  I  am.  He 
is  —  well  —  God  works  in  mysterious  ways !" 

Fourteen  years  have  elapsed  since  I  fought 
the  decisive  battle  of  my  religious  freedom  and 
followed  definitely  the  open  road  of  the  religion 
of  the  spirit.  Of  these  years,  after  leaving  Mo- 
renci  and  previous  to  my  settlement  in  Boston, 
I  spent  tw^o  years  in  Mount  Pleasant,  Michi- 
gan, and  nine  of  joyous  ministerial  activities 
in  the  youthful  and  progressive  city  of  Toledo, 
Ohio.  During  these  years,  having  been  de- 
prived of  a  regular  college  course,  I  have  fol- 
lowed the  path  of  my  destiny  in  the  world,  not 
as  a  learned,  but  as  a  learning,  man.  I  have  al- 

[   340  ] 


AT   THE   TEMPLE   GATE 

ways  sought  to  conserve  the  truths  of  the  past. 
I  have  Hstened  eagerly  to  the  voices  of  scien- 
tists, philosophers,  sociologists,  and  theologians. 
So  far  as  my  time  and  ability  have  permitted, 
I  have  acquainted  myself  with  "Evolution,'* 
the  "New  Psychology,"  the  "Higher  Criti- 
cism," "Social  Religion,"  and  other  fields  of 
modem  research.  My  contact  with  such  men 
and  systems  of  thought  has  been  to  me  like  the 
contact  of  the  "men  of  Athens"  with  Paul  on 
Mars  hill:  they  all  say  to  me,  "The  God  whom 
you  ignorantly  worship.  Him  declare  we  unto 
you. 

Every  step  forward  confirms  me  in  my  belief 
that  God's  judgments  are  those  of  a  loving 
Father,  that  Christ's  mission  is  to  awaken  all 
men  to  their  divine  sonship,  that  religion  is 
life,  and  salvation  spiritual  self-fulfillment.  And 
I  find  it  neither  possible  nor  just  to  think  of 
myself  as  the  pupil  and  beneficiary  of  any  one 
church  or  denomination  to  the  exclusion  of  all 
others.  I  am  the  grateful  child  of  the  whole 
Church  of  Christ,  regardless  of  sect  and  creed. 

[  341   ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

But  I  am  particularly  indebted  to  those  com- 
munions whose  activities  have  influenced  my 
life  in  a  more  direct  way.   ' 

To  my  Mother  Church,  the  Greek  Orthodox, 
I  am  indebted  for  the  earliest  spiritual  inspira- 
tion which  flowed  into  my  life  in  the  name  of 
Christ.  Notwithstanding  the  pagan  traits  which 
still  cling  to  her,  that  ancient  church  fixed  my 
eyes  in  childhood  and  youth  upon  the  cross  of 
Christ  as  symbol  of  the  souFs  victory  over  sin 
and  death. 

To  the  missionary  zeal  of  the  great  Presby- 
terian denomination,  and  to  its  firmness  in  the 
Christian  faith  as  it  is  known  to  its  members, 
I  am  indebted  for  my  first  lessons  in  the  relig- 
ion of  an  open  Bible,  and  of  individual  convic- 
tion. It  was  in  that  Presbyterian  school  on  the 
western  slopes  of  my  native  Lebanon  that  I 
first  learned  to  think  of  Christianity  as  a  per- 
sonal and  not  a  corporate  religion. 

To  the  Methodist  Episcopal  Church  of 
America  I  owe  the  profoundest  sense  of  spirit- 
ual fervor.   In  my  lonely  days  of  poverty  and 

[  342   ] 


AT   THE  TEMPLE  GATE 

struggle,  when  America  was  yet  a  strange  land 
to  me,  the  brotherly  spirit  and  friendly  touch 
of  Methodism  did  more  than  any  other  one 
church  influence  to  renew  my  strength  and 
steady  my  faltering  steps.  And  I  trust  that  no 
modem  revolutions,  either  in  science  or  theo- 
logy, will  ever  lead  that  communion  to  lose  its 
noble  and  apostolic  spirit  of  friendliness. 

To  the  Congregational  Church,  both  Trini- 
tarian and  Unitarian,  I  owe  the  largest  meas- 
ure of  theological  freedom  and  the  highest  level 
of  spiritual  thought  I  have  yet  attained.  And 
I  believe  it  is  fitting,  at  the  close  of  this  story 
of  my  religious  evolution  and  in  connection 
with  the  preceding  paragraph,  for  me  to  add 
the  following. 

About  seventy-two  years  ago,  when  the 
Trinitarian-Unitarian  controversy  was  going 
on  among  the  Congregational  churches  of  New 
England,  the  noted  scholar,  patriot,  and 
preacher,  the  Reverend  James  Freeman  Clarke, 
D.D.,  organized  a  church  in  the  city  of  Boston. 
In  order  to  save  that  church  from  the  theologi- 

[  343   ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

cal  contentions  of  the  period,  he  would  have 
for  it  no  doctrinal  conditions  of  membership, 
but  founded  it  on  the  simpk  basis  of  spiritual 
discipleship  to  Jesus  Christ,  with  the  sole  ob- 
ject of  cooperation  in  the  study  and  practice  of 
Christianity;  and  called  it  "The  Church  of  the 
Disciples/'  Although  the  members  of  this 
Church  have  come  from  among  the  "liberals," 
its  pulpit  has  never  given  itself  to  acrimonious 
controversial  preaching.  The  deep  spiritual 
insight  of  its  founder  led  him  to  realize  that  the 
controversy  between  "liberals"  and  "ortho- 
dox" dealt  largely  with  the  non-essentials  of 
Christianity,  and  that  the  essentials  were  com- 
mon to  both  factions.  Time  has  proved  his 
wisdom.  It  is  now  my  privilege  to  serve  this 
free  church  whose  altar  bears  this  inscription: 
"  In  the  freedom  of  the  Truth,  and  in  the  spirit 
of  Jesus  Christ,  we  unite  for  the  worship  of 
God  and  the  service  of  man."  It  was  indeed 
most  gratifying  to  me  that  at  the  service  of  my , 
installation  as  minister  of  this  church  both 
wings  of  Congregationalism  were  represented.] 

[  344  ] 


AT   THE   TEMPLE  GATE 

Now,  do  you  wish  to  know  what  riches  I  have 
gathered  in  the  New  World?  I  will  tell  you. 
These  are  my  riches,  which  neither  moth  nor 
rust  can  corrupt.  I  have  traveled  from  the 
primitive  social  life  of  a  Syrian  village  to  a 
great  city  which  embodies  the  noblest  tradi- 
tions of  the  most  enlightened  country  in  the 
world.  I  have  come  from  the  bondage  of  Turk- 
ish rule  to  the  priceless  heritage  of  American  / 
citizenship.  Though  one  of  the  least  of  her 
loyal  citizens,  I  am  rich  in  the  sense  that  I  am 
helping  in  my  small  v^ay  to  solve  America's 
great  problems  and  to  realize  her  wondrous 
possibilities.  In  this  great  country  I  have  been 
taught  to  believe  in  and  to  labor  for  an  en- 
lightened and  cooperative  individualism,  uni- 
versal peace,  free  churches,  and  free  schools.  I 
have  journeyed  from  the  religion  of  "authority 
for  truth"  to  the  religion  of  "truth  for  au- 
thority"—  a  religion  which  teaches  me  the 
fatherhood  of  God,  the  brotherhood  of  man 
and  the  friendliness  of  the  universe,  and  makes 
me  heir  to  all  the  prayers,  songs,  and  sermons 

[  345   ] 


A  FAR  JOURNEY 

of  the  ages,  I  am  privileged  to  occupy  the 
office  of  a  minister  of  religion  —  the  holiest 
vocation  in  the  possession'  of  man.  I  enjoy  the 
blessings  of  a  happy  home,  and  daily  bread 
comes  to  me  and  mine  as  regularly  as  it  came 
to  Elijah  when  he  was  being  fed  by  the  ravens. 
In  all  these  things  I  am  unspeakably  rich;  my 
dividends  are  large  and  constant  and  the  source 
of  my  blessings  seems  inexhaustible.  Last  but 
not  least  of  my  spiritual  companions  is  my 
"Aim  of  Life/'  which  I  rejoice  to  hear  the  chil- 
dren and  young  people  in  my  Sunday  School 
repeat  together  at  their  meetings :  — 

Our  aim  is  to  conquer 
Ignorance  by  Knowledge, 
Sin  by  Righteousness, 
Discord  by  Harmony, 
Hatred  by  Love. ,. 


THE    END 


APPENDIX 


APPENDIX 

In  compliance  with  the  many  requests  which 
came  to  me  while  this  autobiography  was  being 
pubKshed  in  the  ''Atlantic  Monthly,"  I  will 
state  the  essential  agreements  and  differences 
between  the  Greek  and  Roman,  or  the  Eastern 
and  Western,  Churches,  in  the  language  of  a 
noted  church  historian :  ^  — 

"Both  Churches  own  the  Nicene  Creed 
(with  the  exception  of  the  Filioque),  and  all 
the  doctrinal  decrees  of  the  seven  oecumenical 
synods  from  a.d.  325  to  787,  including  the  wor- 
ship of  images.  They  agree,  moreover,  in  most 
of  the  post-oecumenical  or  mediaeval  doctrines, 
namely:  the  authority  of  ecclesiastical  tradi- 
tion as  a  joint  rule  of  faith  with  the  holy  Scrip- 
tures; the  worship^  of  the  Virgin  Mary,  of  the 

1  With  slight  abbreviation,  from  Philip  Schaff's-^w- 
iory  of  the  Christian  Church,  vol.  iv,  pp.  306-08. 

2  Both  the  Greek  and  Roman  communions  assert 
that  they  do  not  worship,  but  adore  the  Virgin  Mary 
and  the  saints. 

[  349  ] 


APPENDIX 

saints,  their  pictures  (not  statues),  and  relics; 
justification  by  faith  and  good  works,  as  joint 
conditions ;  the  merits  of  good  works,  especially 
voluntary  celibacy  and  poverty;  the  seven 
sacraments  or  mysteries  (with  minor  differ- 
ences as  to  confirmation,  and  extreme  unction 
or  chrisma);  baptismal  regeneration  and  the 
necessity  of  water-baptism  for  salvation ;  tran- 
substantiation  and  the  consequent  adoration 
of  the  sacramental  elements ;  the  sacrifice  of  the 
mass  for  the  living  and  the  dead,  and  prayers 
for  the  dead ;  priestly  absolution  by  divine  au- 
thority; three  orders  of  the  ministry,  and  the 
necessity  of  an  episcopal  hierarchy  up  to  the 
patriarchal  dignity;  and  a  vast  number  of  re- 
ligious rites  and  ceremonies. 

"In  the  doctrine  of  purgatory,  the  Greek 
Church  is  less  explicit,  yet  agrees  with  the 
Roman  in  assuming  a  middle  state  of  purifica- 
tion. The  dogma  of  transubstantiation,  too, 
is  not  so  clearly  formulated  in  the  Greek  Creed 
as  in  the  Roman.  The  Greek  Church  has  never 
prohibited  the  popular  use  of  the  Holy  Scrip- 

[   350  ] 


APPENDIX 

tures,  but  her  traditions  are  as  strong  a  barrier 
against  the  exercise  of  private  judgment  as 
those  of  Rome. 

*'  The  dissensus  of  the  two  Churches  covers 
the  following  points :  — 

"i.  The  procession  of  the  Holy  Spirit:  the 
East  teaching  the  single  procession  from  the 
Father  only;  the  West  (since  Augustine),  the 
double  procession  from  the  Father  and  the  Son 
(Filioque), 

"2.  The  universal  authority  and  infallibility 
of  the  Pope,  which  is  asserted  by  the  Roman, 
is  denied  by  the  Greek  Church.  The  former  is 
a  papal  monarchy;  the  latter  a  patriarchal 
oligarchy. 

"3.  The  immaculate  conception  of  the  Vir- 
gin Mary,  proclaimed  as  a  dogma  by  the  Pope 
in  1854;  disowned  by  the  East. 

"4.  The  marriage  of  the  lower  clergy,  al- 
lowed by  the  Eastern,  forbidden  by  the  Roman 
Church  (yet  conceded  by  the  Pope  to  the 
United  Greeks). 

"5.  The  withdrawal  of  the  cup  from  the 

[  351   ] 


APPENDIX 

laity.  In  the  Greek  Church  the  laymen  re- 
ceive the  consecrated  bread  dipped  in  the  wine 
and  administered  with'  a  golden  spoon. 

"6.  A  number  of  minor  ceremonies  peculiar 
to  the  Eastern  Church,  such  as  trine  immersion 
in  baptism,  the  use  of  leavened  bread  in  the 
Eucharist,  infant-communion,  the  repetition  of 
the  holy  unction  in  sickness." 


CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U    .    S    .    A 


DUE  DATE 


AUG2  919i 


GIX    FEB  15  1993 


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